OCARDUS 

A  NOVEL 


GEORGE  AGNEW 
CHAMBERLAIN 


DE 


JOHN  BOGARDUS 


JANICE 


JOHN  BOGARDUS 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

GEORGE  AGNEW  CHAMBERLAIN 

Author  of  "Home,"  "Through  Stained  Glass" 
ILLUSTRATED  BY  W.  T.   BENDA 


ji^jwWrv 
•viw^v< 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
GEOKGE  AONEW  CHAMBEBIAJS 

Published  February,  1916 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

JANICE Frontispiece 

FACING  PAOE 

JOAN 144 

PAULINE 224 

DORA  328 


2128713 


JOHN  BOGARDUS 
BOOK  I 


Thus  spake  the  God  of  Gifts, —  and  slept,  and  saw  not: 

"  To  each  child  its  moment  of  illusion, 

Its  day  of  honey  cupped  in  young  petals, 

Its  measure  of  bliss  against  the  hour  of  bitterness, 

To  each  child, —  childhood." 


JOHN  BOGARDUS 

CHAPTER  I 

IN"  the  summer  of  1902  James  Bogardus,  university 
professor  of  Romance  languages,  stood  in  a  crowd 
on  a  New  York  pier  and  watched  his  son  John,  an  in- 
considerable individual  in  the  flood  of  passengers,  come 
down  the  gangway  of  an  arriving  liner. 

American  crowds  are  monotonously  uniform,  and 
this  one  was  no  exception  save  for  the  erect  professor 
himself.  He  was  distinguished  by  a  mustache  and 
pointed,  iron-gray  beard,  a  well-fitted  frock  coat,  but- 
toned down  the  front,  a  tightly  rolled  umbrella,  and, 
last  and  most  remarkable,  a  glossy  top  hat. 

Ever  since  Junior  year  at  college  had  conferred  on 
him  the  right  to  sport  a  high  hat,  James  Bogardus  had 
done  so  on  every  suitable  occasion,  guided  no  less  by 
a  sense  of  independence  and  dignity  than  by  the  in- 
stincts of  all  short  men  for  anything  that  appears  to 
add  a  cubit  to  their  stature. 

However,  in  spite  of  his  garb,  perhaps  by  reason 
of  his  manner  of  wearing  it,  no  one  could  fail  to  mark 
him  for  an  American  of  the  Americans,  nor  to  bestow 
in  addition  the  flattering  concession  that  he  must  be 
a  distinguished  American.  Less  could  be  said  in  this 


4  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

regard  for  his  son  John,  whose  deliberate  patience  in 
waiting  till  everybody  who  was  in  a  hurry  had  pushed 
down  the  gangway  before  him  seemed  to  brand  him 
either  a  foreigner  or,  at  the  best,  a  thoroughly  dena- 
tured home  product. 

At  this  time  John  Bogardus  was  twenty  years  old 
and  looked  at  least  twenty-four  in  his  somber,  oddly  cut, 
continental  clothes.  The  straight-brimmed  felt  hat, 
high  waistcoat,  close-fitting  jacket,  and  the  trousers  that 
were  too  wide  just  below  the  hips  and  too  narrow  just 
above  the  long  pointed  shoes,  seemed  to  imprison  his 
spirit  as  well  as  his  body  in  a  strait-jacket  of  pro- 
priety. Just  as  Bogardus  the  elder  dominated  his 
clothes,  his  son  was  dominated  by  his. 

A  keen-witted  young  lady  on  board  had  said  that 
when  she  first  saw  him  without  a  hat  it  had  given  her 
as  much  of  a  shock  as  catching  any  other  man  in  his 
undershirt,  and  James  Bogardus  had  an  allied  sensation 
when  his  son  uncovered  before  him,  disclosing  a  wavy 
crop  of  dark  hair  that  looked  what  it  was :  the  shining 
crown  of  youth.  The  professor  gripped  the  boy's  ex- 
tended hand  with  both  of  his  own  and  shook  it  so 
heartily  that  he  dropped  his  umbrella.  John  was  quick 
to  pick  it  up  for  him. 

"  Now  for1  the  customs  people,"  said  the  professor, 
in  the  despairing  tones  of  every  American  face  to  face 
with  the  collectors  of  tribute  at  his  country's  gates. 
"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I  never 
pass  my  baggage  except  to  the  accompaniment  of  shiv- 
ers in  the  spine.  You  know  you  've  a  right  to  every- 
thing you  saw  go  into  your  trunks,  but  you  alwajs 


*  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  5 

have  a  feeling  that  somebody  may  have  slipped  in 
something  while  you  weren't  looking;  a  string  of 
pearls  so  famous  that  nobody  could  sell  it  but  the  real 
owner,  or  —  or  a  dead  body." 

John  laughed.  "  Don't  worry,"  he  said.  "  You 
forget  that  I  've  been  running  a  gauntlet  of  customs 
regularly  for  eight  years  in  as  many  languages." 

The  professor  stood  back  and  watched  with  admira- 
tion the  ease  and  calm  assurance  with  which  his  lei- 
surely son  passed  all  barriers.  They  were  in  a  cab 
and  rolling  away  from  the  pier  so  quickly  that  John's 
last  words  still  hung  in  his  mind.  Sitting  very  erect 
to  save  his  glossy  hat  from  a  rub,  his  thin  hands  locked 
over  the  handle  of  his  umbrella,  he  glanced  question- 
ingly  at  his  boy's  profile.  "  Eight  years  is  a  long 
time,"  he  said,  "  but  you  've  accomplished  more  than 
you  could  over  here  in  seven  times  seven." 

John  scarcely  heard  his  father.  He  was  staring  out 
of  the  open  cab  window  on  the  dead  ugliness  of  New 
York's  west  front.  The  city's  East  Side  is  unwashed, 
ragged,  sordid,  but  it  teems  with  life.  It  is  gay  in 
comparison  with  the  decayed  solitudes  of  the  lower 
western  side  streets  that  seem  to  take  painfully  long 
strides  toward  the  mighty  artery  of  Broadway,  pulsing 
with  the  life  blood  of  the  city. 

John  was  inevitably  depressed  by  this  first  view  of 
the  metropolis,  so  depressed  that  even  the  eventual 
plunge  through  the  maelstrom  of  Broadway  into  the 
steadily  flowing  stream  of  Fifth  Avenue  did  not  quite 
revive  his  spirits,  never  ebullient  at  the  best.  He  was 
silent  and  so  was  his  father,  sensitive  to  his  boy's  mood 


6  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

and,  though  he  would  never  have  admitted  it,  some- 
what abashed  as  well  by  the  young  man's  grave  poise. 

This  reunion  meant  much  to  James  Bogardus.  It 
made  him  feel  not  only  happy  but  boyish  in  his  happi- 
ness, and  his  silence,  preposterous  as  it  may  seem,  was 
very  much  akin  to  the  sulks  of  an  urchin  repressed  by 
the  presence  of  an  elder.  A  paradox  is  a  paradox  only 
to  those  too  lazy  to  look  for  an  explanation.  There  was 
really  no  mystery  about  John  Bogardus  nor  were  the 
present  relations  between  him  and  his  father  at  all  illog- 
icaL  Relations  between  personalities  never  are  illog- 
ical under  the  surface ;  they  depend  ultimately  on  points 
of  contact. 

Between  John  Bogardus  and  his  father  the  points  of 
contact  had  been  tampered  with,  arbitrarily  thrown  out 
of  circuit  during  many  years.  It  happened  in  this 
wise.  James  Bogardus  had  always  looked  upon  himself 
as  a  Tnfllcftatu-ft  for  a  professor  of  Romance  languages. 
His  university,  which  happened  to  be  his  alma  mater 
as  well,  considered  him  the  best  available,  and  keenly 
aware  of  his  own  shortcomings  he  genuinely  regretted 
that  an  institution  so  powerful  and  so  linked  almost 
from  the  inception  of  nationality  with  the  intellectual 
progress  of  the  country,  should  be  forced  to  avail  itself 
of  makeshifts. 

He  wondered  how  many  of  his  colleagues  held  their 
chairs  by  an  equal  sufferance  and  gradually  there  sprang 
up  in  him  the  ambition  to  prepare  at  least  one  exponent 
of  Romance  languages  who  would  never  have  to  depend 
on  the  subterfuges  of  a  smattering  of  knowledge,  but 
could  face  inquiring  minds  with  a  reservoir  filled  to 


V  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  7 

the  brim  from  the  live  sources  of  the  tongues  that  had 
heralded  the  hirth  of  humanism  and  propagated  the 
Renaissance. 

This  amhition  served  him  as  a  unique  solace  when 
his  wife,  whom  he  had  passionately  adored,  died  and 
left  their  only  child,  then  twelve  years  of  age,  to  his 
sole  care.  Maternity  has  been  studied  again  and 
again  in  all  its  phases  but  laic  literature  is  peculiarly 
silent  on  the  constituent  elements  of  fathers  in  general. 
An  overflow  of  mother's  love  drowns  everything  else 
including  ambition,  but  ambition,  at  least  for  his  male 
offspring,  is  commonly  the  measure  of  a  father's  affec- 
tion, especially  in  those  cases  where  he  happens  to  have 
regarded  his  wife  with  the  continuing  adoration  of  a 
faithful  lover. 

James  Bogardus  would  have  been  genuinely  shocked 
had  any  one  impugned  the  love  he  bore  for  his  child  by 
measuring  it  with  the  cold  rule  of  ambition,  but  had 
his  affection  been  even  colored  with  the  passion  with 
which  he  had  worshiped  the  boy's  mother  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  he  could  have  taken  him  to  Europe  within 
a  few  months  of  his  mother's  death  and  left  him  there 
for  eight  years.  To  the  professor,  the  mere  fact  that 
he  had  crossed  four  times  during  the  eight  years  to 
spend  his  long  holidays  with  his  son  would  have  seemed 
ample  refutation  of  any  suggestion  of  neglect. 

John  Bogardus  as  a  student  had  more  than  fulfilled 
his  father's  most  sanguine  hopes.  He  had  traveled 
ahead  of  his  schedule.  Two  years  in  Italy,  two  in 
France,  and  one  in  Spain  had  given  him  a  vernacular 
facility  which  had  been  welded  into  a  co-related  whole 


8  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

in  a  course  at  Bonn,  followed  by  a  year  divided  between 
Provence,  Portugal,  and  a  certain  amount  of  general 
though  restricted  travel.  By  the  time  he  was  twenty 
he  had  absorbed  the  Eomance  languages  into  his  mental 
system  as  naturally  as  humanity  absorbs  milk,  and  just 
as  naturally,  and  logically,  he  had  grown  away  from  his 
father. 

On  this  long-awaited  day  of  reunion,  the  two  were 
far  apart.  A  wall  was  between  them.  Neither  father 
nor  son  actually  sensed  it,  but  both  walked,  unknow- 
ing, in  its  shadow. 

The  professor  was  restless  and  showed  it  by  the  time 
the  cab  drew  up  at  the  portals  of  the  quiet  but  re- 
nowned hotel  he  patronized.  "  Here  we  are !  "  he 
cried,  with  an  exploded  sigh  of  relief,  and  busied  him- 
self with  paying  the  cabman  and  giving  orders  as  to 
the  disposal  of  the  luggage.  As  they  passed  up  the 
lobby  together  his  quick  eyes  noted  the  friendly  but 
amused  glances  cast  on  him  and  his  son.  He  was  at 
no  loss  to  read  them.  He  had  reason  to  know  that  his 
fellow  countrymen  are  intolerant  of  the  slightest  idio- 
syncrasy of  dress  and  that  a  Hindu  who  could  walk 
the  streets  of  any  European  capital  unmolested  and 
almost  unremarked  would  probably  be  jeered  out  of 
stolid  countenance  if  he  attempted  to  saunter  along 
Canal  Street  in  his  native  garb,  unless  protected  be- 
fore and  behind  by  the  conventional  boards  of  the  sand- 
wich-man. 

Already  uneasy,  he  found  that  the  comfortless  bed- 
rooms and  the  much  frequented  lounges  of  the  hotel 
presented  an  unfriendly  atmosphere  for  the  long  talks 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  9 

he  had  looked  forward  to  having  with  his  son.  He 
decided  to  flee  the  city  as  quickly  as  possible  and  on  the 
morning  after  John's  arrival,  having  carefully  packed 
away  his  own  high  hat  and  frock  coat,  he  took  his  son 
to  a  large  establishment  and  outfitted  him  completely 
with  linen  and  ready-made  clothes. 

This  morning  held  one  moment  that  brought  a 
kindling  to  John's  eyes  and  a  warm  glow  to  his  cheeks. 
He  was  standing  arrayed  in  a  new  hat  and  the  last  suit 
purchased  when  his  father  said, 

"  Why  not  keep  those  on  ?  They  can  send  up  your 
old  things." 

John  felt  a  strange  and  disproportionate  thrill. 

"  May  I  ? "  he  said,  flushing  with  sudden  pleasure. 
The  color  in  his  cheeks  made  him  look,  for  the  first 
time  since  his  arrival,  as  young  as  his  years.  It  made 
him  look  so  young  that  the  professor  felt  a  twinge  of 
dismay,  a  twinge  so  slight  that  it  passed  practically  un- 
remarked. 

John  stepped  out  of  the  enormous  building  bravely 
as  though  by  assuming  the  regulation  garb  of  those  about 
him  he  had  suddenly  become  linked  to  the  new  life^ 
which  only  yesterday  he  had  looked  upon  as  a  distant 
estate,  hard  of  access. 

But  this  feeling  was  not  to  last.  James  Bogardus 
was  too  intent  on  learning  at  first  hand  the  measure  of 
the  glowing  reports  that  had  come  to  him  in  regard  to 
his  son's  unusual  accomplishments  to  apply  the  least 
penetration  or  attach  the  slightest  importance  to  the 
signs,  faint  as  they  were,  that  might  have  led  him  to  an 
understanding  of  the  mental  confusion  that  possessed 


10  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

the  boy,  assailed  by  the  inevitable  yearnings  of  one  who 
had  too  long  dreamed  of  a  final  return  to  his  native 

land. 

Instead  of  taking  John  to  the  neighborhood  of  their 
old  summer  home,  long  since  sold,  where  he  could  have 
picked  up  the  threads  of  family  friendships  and  had  the 
chance  to  come  back  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  flesh,  he 
carried  him  off  to  the  crowded  solitudes  of  a  lake  re- 
sort and  purposely  isolated  him  among  strangers,  thus 
thrusting  into  the  years  all  hopes  of  a  genuine  reunion. 

John  was  a  handsome  lad,  taller  than  his  father  and 
darker.  His  hair  was  almost  black,  his  eyes  a  rich 
brown,  and  his  cheeks  had  a  smooth,  un-American 
tinge  of  olive  as  though  the  long  years  he  had  spent  in 
the  south  of  Europe  had  marked  him  skin  deep.  His 
frame  was  well  set  up  but  undeveloped  by  sports  or 
any  exercise  save  walking.  His  father  chided  him  for 
not  standing  quite  erect. 

Father  and  son  occupied  two  beds  in  the  same  room, 
adjoining  a  little  veranda  of  which  they  had  the  sole 
use.  Here  they  would  sit  for  hours  day  after  day  and 
talk.  Toward  evening  or  sometimes  in  the  cool  of  the 
early  morning,  they  would  go  for  long  walks  over  the 
hills  or  through  the  woods  that  skirted  the  lake.  As 
they  walked  they  talked,  and  the  talk  always  swung 
on  the  single  pivot  of  Neo-Latin  and  its  variations. 

They  discussed  the  Italic,  Gallic,  and  Iberian  tongues 
in  all  their  relations,  and  the  elder  Bogardus  impressed 
upon  the  younger  that  this  flourishing  branch  alone  of 
Average-Latin  would  be  his  care  in  a  country  given 
over  to  utilitarianism  even  among  its  intellectuals.  At 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  11 

the  start  James  Bogardus  was  didactic,  soon  he  spoke  as 
to  a  confrere,  but  from  the  moment  he  drew  his  son  into 
a  dissertation  on  the  Germanic  taint  running  solely 
through  the  division  his  father  had  just  specified,  the 
elder  man  became  a  pupil  and,  scholastically  at  least, 
sat  henceforth  at  the  feet  of  the  younger. 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  as  he  realized  how 
far  beyond  his  dreams  his  son  had  gone,  and  more  than 
once,  his  thoughts  fixed  on  the  assistant  professorship 
that  had  long  been  promised  for  the  day  of  fulfilment, 
he  said  to  himself,  "  If  only  he  were  older !  If  only 
he  were  as  old  as  he  looked  when  he  got  off  the  ship !  " 

Little  did  he  guess  that  in  these  moments  of  his  own 
unvoiced  aspirations,  John's  thoughts  were  equally 
fixed  not  on  a  distant  chair  in  Komance  languages  but 
on  chewing  gum. 


CHAPTEK  II 

WHILE  his  tongue  had  been  answering  questions 
and  propounding  theories  almost  automati- 
cally, John's  mind  and  his  eyes  had  been  busy  with 
lesser  things.  The  popular  lake  resort  was  over- 
crowded with  youth.  Boys  in  shirt-sleeves,  in  khaki, 
in  flannels,  even  in  bathing  suits,  swarmed  out  to  mani- 
fold amusements.  They  swam,  they  canoed,  they 
played  tennis,  went  camping  and  chewed  gum.  So  did 
the  girls. 

Brought  up  among  youths  who  from  the  early  day 
they  put  on  long  trousers  feel  naked  without  a  waist- 
coat, this  accepted  variety  and  lack  of  clothing  might 
have  appealed  to  John  as  the  emblem  of  his  native  free- 
dom, the  open  recall  to  an  inherited  democracy.  But 
it  did  not.  It  failed  because  it  struck  no  chord  of 
memory  in  a  boy  whose  New  England  summer  garb  in 
distant  days  had  been  a  shirt,  open  at  the  throat,  a  wide 
straw  hat,  and  knee-length  pants  above  sunburned  bare 
legs. 

But  the  rhythmic  motion  of  young  jaws  —  here  was 
a  thing  he  remembered.  It  swept  across  his  heart- 
strings not  for  itself  but  for  the  memories  it  conjured. 
When  his  father  sent  him  to  buy  a  paper,  his  errand 
done,  he  glanced  at  the  big  glass  jar  full  of  packets  of 

gum,  started  to  speak,  and  then  flushed  and  hurried 

12 


13 

out  only  to  march  back  a  moment  later.  The  color  still 
in  his  cheeks,  he  said,  a  trifle  louder  than  necessary, 
"  I  would  like  a  package  of  chewing  gum,  please." 

"  What  flavor  ?  "  asked  the  busy  clerk. 

For  a  second  John  paused,  then  memory  spoke  for 
him.  "  Wintergreen." 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel  and  their  veranda  he 
opened  the  package  and  drew  out  a  slip  of  gum.  The 
feel  of  its  covering  of  soft  powder,  of  the  smooth  gum 
itself,  its  odor  of  wintergreen,  were  talisman  and  in- 
cense to  recollection.  He  popped  the  gum  into  his 
mouth  and  chewed,  his  deep  brown  eyes  fixed  afar 
on  memories  of  barefoot  days,  of  a  swimming  hole,  of 
apple,  chestnut,  and  blackberry  raids,  of  a  raft  on  the 
overflow  in  a  meadow,  or  of  the  view  from  the  top  of 
a  smooth  knoll,  crowned  with  firs  and  carpeted  with 
slippery  pine-needles. 

As  he  approached  his  father  he  took  the  gum,  al- 
ready almost  tasteless,  from  his  mouth,  and  rolling  it 
into  a  wad  pressed  it  under  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  All 
his  later  instincts  rose  up  in  arms  against  this  out- 
rage to  the  dignity  of  his  new  clothes,  but  they  were 
powerless  before  the  surge  of  memory  reminding  him 
that  just  so  did  the  boy  of  other  years  guard  a  com- 
paratively new  wad  of  gum  through  the  long  school 
hours. 

It  is  diificult  for  fathers  to  understand  surreptitious 
rebellion  in  their  children.  Years  later,  the  years  that 
it  almost  always  takes  to  bring  regret,  James  Bo- 
gardus's  spirit  was  to  call  back  to  the  spirit  of  his  son, 
"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  that  I  was  boring  you  to 


14  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

tears,  that  you  were  longing  to  chew  gum,  to  finish 
learning  to  swim,  to  crowd  to  the  station  at  train  time 
with  a  lot  of  chattering  boys  and  girls,  to  dance  at  night 
and  frivol  away  time  in  the  day?  I  might  not  have 
understood  why  you  wanted  these  things  but  I  would 
have  understood  you.  I  would  not  have  builded  on 
sand  a  house  for  disillusion."  And  the  boy's  spirit 
was  to  reply,  "  Why  in  your  turn  did  n't  you  blurt  out 
to  your  father  before  you  the  hidden  things  that  are 
never  hidden  to  the  eyes  of  love  ? " 

Once,  when  his  father  had  fallen  into  a  doze  after 
lunch,  John  stole  softly  from  the  veranda  and  went  for 
a  walk  by  himself.  He  chose  the  embowered  paths  by 
the  lake  side.  At  moments  he  walked  rapidly,  his  head 
held  high,  his  arms  swinging  free.  At  other  moments 
he  walked  slowly,  his  head  and  his  eyes  fallen  in 
dreams.  For  quite  half  an  hour  he  sat  upon  a  mossy 
log  and  then  jumped  up  to  throw  stones  at  a  squirrel, 
only  to  feel  the  next  instant  a  throb  of  thanksgiving 
that  he  had  n't  hit  the  little  chap. 

On  his  way  back  he  stood  on  a  lonely,  rocky  point 
that  ran  out  into  the  lake  and  watched  a  catboat  swoop 
down  upon  him.  His  blood  surged  with  the  surge  at 
its  foaming  bow.  On  it  came,  courting  disaster,  laugh- 
ing at  it.  Suddenly  it  jibed,  the  broad  sail  slatted, 
went  over  with  a  slap  and  a  creaking  of  stays,  filled 
and  drew  away. 

John  gasped  as  he  saw  the  boat's  sole  occupant,  a 
bare-armed,  bare-headed  girl,  sitting  alone  at  the  helm, 
her  loose  hair  blown  before  the  wind.  She  caught  the 
look  in  his  eyes,  smiled,  and  more  out  of  mischief  than 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  15 

impudence  waved  her  hand  at  him  as  she  headed  her 
little  craft  into  the  safe  distance. 

John  stood  for  long  and  stared.  To  what  far  nook 
of  the  wide  lake  was  she  hound?  What  lamplit  room 
would  hold  her  to-night?  On  what  paths  would  she 
wander  to-morrow  ?  The  yearning  of  youth  for  youth 
swelled  in  his  bosom.  He  dreamed  dreams.  He  saw 
himself  coming  upon  her  in  some  shaded  wood,  speak- 
ing to  her,  touching  her  hand.  Then,  with  the  fan- 
tastic leaps  of  boyhood's  imagination,  he  saw  himself 
saving  her  from  disaster,  from  fire,  a  runaway,  or  ship- 
wreck. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  his  father  found  him. 
"  Where  have  you  been,  my  boy  ?  I  Ve  been  looking 
for  you  for  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  just  for  a  walk,"  said  John,  as  he  turned  to 
leave  his  point  of  rock  and  his  dreams. 

A  puzzled  look  came  into  his  father's  face.  "  But 
why  did  n't  you  wake  me  ?  You  know  I  'm  always 
ready  for  a  walk  with  you." 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  wake  you.  I  thought  the  sleep 
was  doing  you  good,"  said  John,  coloring  slightly  at  the 
lie. 

"  Oh,  I  get  enough  sleep,"  said  his  father  easily. 
"  Never  worry  about  that.  There  are  such  loads  of 
things  to  talk  about  that  I  sometimes  think  we  sleep 
altogether  too  much  at  night,  let  alone  day  naps. 
We  've  talked  over  the  past  pretty  thoroughly.  We 
know  where  we  stand  to-day.  Now,  the  thing  to  do  is 
to  settle  the  future." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  John. 


16 

"  Our  holidays  are  drawing  to  a  close,"  continued 
the  elder  Bogardus,  "  and  before  we  go  into  what  you  're 
going  to  do  I  want  to  sum  up  what  you  've  done. 
You've  learned  more,  much  more,  than  I  sent  you  to 
learn.  You  Ve  laid  your  foundations  deep  and  well. 
We  need  n't  think  any  more  about  that.  But  you  lack 
two  things:  years  and  a  degree." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  John. 

"  The  degree  will  be  easy  for  you,"  continued  his 
father,  "  but  we  '11  have  to  wait  for  the  years.  Some 
men  never  move.  They  stay  in  one  place  mentally  and 
otherwise,  grow  old  slowly,  and  stay  old  a  long  time. 
Other  men  grow  old  quickly  and  stay  young  forever. 
They  are  the  travelers.  I  want  you  to  be  a  traveler. 
Now,  no  man  has  ever  moved  his  body  around  the 
world  without  moving  his  mind  at  the  same  time.  To- 
night I  'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  propose  and  then 
you  can  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  said  John. 

They  had  come  upon  the  hotel  and  John  paused  to 
watch  the  crowd  of  bathers.  They  dived  from  the 
wharf,  from  boats,  and  from  the  float.  Some  swam 
with  long  swirling  strokes  that  shot  them  through  the 
water,  others  breasted  the  lake  ripples  heavily  like 
blunt-nosed  ferry  boats,  still  others  skirted  the  shore  as 
though  they  felt  safer  where  an  extended  toe  would 
touch  bottom ;  but,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  all  swam. 

"  If  you  can't  even  swim  what  an  ass  you  are  to 
dream  of  saving  a  girl  from  drowning."  It  was  as 
though  a  voice  had  spoken  to  John.  With  a  quickened 
step  he  walked  after  his  father. 


y  JOHIST   BOGAEDUS  IT 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  'd  like  to  bathe." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  the  professor.  "  Well,  why 
not?" 

John  hesitated.  "  I  'd  have  to  get  a  bathing-suit," 
he  said,  smiling  and  coloring  at  the  same  time. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  exclaimed  the  professor,  thrusting 
his  hand  into  his  trousers'  pocket,  "  you  've  got  no 
money !  There,"  he  said,  pressing  a  ten-dollar  bill  into 
his  son's  hand,  "  that 's  yours.  There  you  are.  Run 
along." 

As  John  hurried  up  the  single  business  street  of  the 
village  his  father  stood  and  stared  after  him,  vainly  try- 
ing to  pin  down  a  fleeting  impression  that  just  now  he 
had  spoken  to  his  boy  as  if  he  were  a  boy  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  welcomed  him  back. 

Half  an  hour  later,  feeling  very  naked  in  a  close- 
fitting  bathing-suit,  John  walked  out  on  the  wharf, 
paused  for  a  moment,  clenched  his  teeth,  and  plunged 
into  deep  water.  In  the  far-off  days  of  the  swimming 
hole  he  had  but  barely  reached  the  dog-paddling  stage 
of  natation.  That  modicum  of  knowledge  had  fortu- 
nately not  forsaken  him,  so  that  when  he  arose  splutter- 
ing from  the  depths  of  the  lake  he  could  at  least  keep 
afloat  by  whirling  his  arms  and  legs  around  like  the 
wings  of  a  windmill  gone  mad.  He  produced  a  great 
commotion  in  the  water  but  the  distance  between  him- 
self and  firm  land  remained  alarmingly  constant. 

However,  he  would  not  let  himself  doubt  or  cry  out 
and  despite  the  fact  that  he  had  swallowed  more  of  the 
lake  than  was  good  for  him  he  turned  with  some  spirit 
on  the  strong  swimmer  who  seized  him  by  the  hair  and 


'18  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

with  three  powerful  strokes  towed  him  to  shallow  water. 

"  I  suppose  you  meant  well,"  said  John  as  soon  as 
he  could  speak,  "  but  I  wish  you  had  let  me  alone." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  cheek !  "  said  the  tall  stranger. 
"  D'  you  know  you  was  goin'  down  when  I  grabbed 
you?" 

"  I  know  that,"  said  John,  calmly,  "  but  I  could  have 
crawled  in  along  the  bottom." 

The  stranger  laughed  so  heartily,  his  blue  eyes 
crinkled  up  so  merrily  at  the  corners,  that  John  could 
not  help  but  laugh  with  him. 

"  Look  here,  son,"  said  the  tall  man.  "  I  'd  like  to 
learn  you  to  swim.  Come  out  with  me  in  a  boat  to- 
morrow morning  at  ten.  One  lesson  will  do  it  if  nerve 
counts  as  much  as  it  used  to  and  I  guess  it  does.  Will 
ye  come  ? " 

John  nodded  a  quick  assent.  He  said  nothing  but 
his  eyes  spoke  for  him.  That  night  he  could  hardly 
tear  his  thoughts  from  the  morrow  to  meet  with  cour- 
tesy, let  alone  enthusiasm,  the  generous  proposal  of  his 
father. 

"  What  I  suggest  is  this,"  said  James  Bogardus. 
"  There  are  three  thousand  dollars  left  of  the  fund  I 
had  determined  to  spend  on  your  education.  I  pro- 
pose to  take  out  a  letter  of  credit  in  your  name  for 
that  amount  and  to  turn  you  loose  without  conditions 
except,  of  course,  that  you  are  to  pick  up  a  European 
degree  while  you  're  away." 

"  Of  course,"  said  John. 

"  It  does  n't  much  matter  where  you  take  the  degree," 
continued  his  father.  "  Bonn,  Heidelberg,  Leipzig  — 


,  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  19 

they  all  look  equally  well  in  a  faculty  register,  and 
that 's  all  you  want  the  degree  for.  Make  the  money 
last  as  long  as  you  can  and  whether  you  come  back  soon 
or  late,  come  back  as  old  as  possible  so  that  you  won't 
look  like  a  child  preaching  in  the  temple  and  be  accused 
of  presumption  by  the  prophets  and  the  blind." 

James  Bogardus  paused  for  a  moment  and  then, 
vaguely  disappointed,  added,  "  Well,  what  do  you 
say?" 

John  brought  himself  to  rise  to  the  occasion  with  a 
wrench.  "  I  say  that  you  are  splendidly  generous  and 
thoughtful,"  he  answered.  "  I  '11  —  I  '11  try  not  to  dis- 
appoint you." 

"  And  I  can  assure  you,"  said  his  father,  "  you  won't 
have  to  try  very  hard,  not  after  what  you  've  done  al- 
ready." 

Sharp  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  John  was  at 
the  water  side  in  his  bathing-suit,  having  merely  told 
his  father  that  he  was  going  for  a  swim.  Within  five 
minutes  the  tall  stranger  appeared  with  a  boat  and 
picked  him  up.  In  silence  and  with  the  short  choppy 
stroke  of  a  professional  seaman  he  drove  the  boat  out 
into  the  lake  and  only  at  half  a  mile  from  shore  rested 
on  his  oars. 

"  Well,  son,"  he  said,  "  what 's  your  name  ?  " 

John  told  him. 

"  An'  I  'm  Cap'n  Ike  Carr,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Master  of  the  schooner  Alexandrine  that 's  havin'  her 
bottom  scraped  in  between  charters.  Now  as  to  swim- 
min'.  The  greatest  mistake  you  can  make  in  learnin' 
to  swim  is  to  make  up  your  mind  to  try  hard.  Swim- 


20  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

min'  is  the  gol-durnedest  easiest  form  of  loafin'  ever 
discovered  by  man." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  John,  doubtfully. 

"What  happened  to  you  when  you  jumped  into 
deep  water  ?  "  continued  the  captain.  "  Your  muscles 
turned  into  pianner  wires,  did  n't  they  ?  All  strainin' 
like  Billy-o  an'  gettin'  nowheres." 

John  nodded.  "  That 's  the  way  it  was,"  he  said 
with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  that's  all  wrong,"  said  Captain  Ike. 
"  Swimmin'  's  like  lying  on  a  feather  bed  only  softer. 
All  you  gotta  do  is  jest  to  lie  all  sprawled  out  and 
remember  this:  if  there  ain't  a  tight  muscle  in  your 
body  you  can't  sink  if  you  try.  Now  I  'm  going  over 
the  side  and  don't  you  jump  after  me.  Just  let  your- 
self into  the  water  easy  like  and  keep  one  hand  on  the 
gun'ale." 

Captain  Ike  shipped  the  oars  and  stood  up.  He  was 
not  a  young  man,  his  temples  were  shot  with  gray,  but 
he  still  possessed  the  high  tide  of  vigor  that  makes  a 
big  man's  lanky  body  a  thing  of  joy  to  himself  and  to 
others.  John  watched  with  envy  the  clean,  long  dive 
from  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  its  exaggerated  lolling 
as,  without  making  a  single  stroke,  the  bather  shot  to 
the  surface  and  lay  there  like  a  log  for  as  long  as  he 
could  hold  his  breath.  Then  with  a  slow  flap  of  an 
arm  and  the  crooking  of  a  leg  the  body  went  into  lan- 
guid motion  and  gradually  circled  the  boat. 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  captain. 

John  let  himself  slowly  into  the  water,  keeping  firm, 
hold  on  the  gunwale. 


*  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  21 

"  Draw  yourself  up  a  bit,"  said  the  captain.  "  Now 
let  yourself  down  till  only  your  nose  is  showin'.  Feel 
the  water  take  the  weight  ? "  he  asked,  as  John  came 
up. 

"  Yes,"  said  John. 

"  Holdin'  onto  the  gun' ale  is  bad  for  you,"  continued 
the  captain.  "  It  keeps  that  arm  pianner-wire.  Jest 
let  yerself  flop  on  your  back  and  mind  you  don't  tighten 
nothin'." 

John  did  as  he  was  bidden.  He  felt  the  captain's 
hand  placed  lightly  under  his  head.  He  lay  quite  re- 
laxed and  let  his  arms  float  out  from  his  sides. 

Captain  Ike  drew  one  of  the  oars  over  the  side  into 
the  water  and  slipped  it  under  John's  head.  Then  he 
withdrew  his  hand  and  paddled  noiselessly  away.  He 
swam  around  the  boat  and  as  he  came  across  the  bows 
shouted,  "  Well,  son,  been  asleep  ?  " 

John  started  and  turned  his  head.  The  oar  slipped 
from  under  it.  For  a  moment  panic  threatened  him, 
then  he  fastened  his  mind  on  the  lolling  movements  of 
the  captain  rising  from  his  dive.  He  pretended  he 
was  the  captain.  He  lay  still  and  flopped  his  hands 
lazily.  The  water  did  not  drag  him  down;  it  buoyed 
him  up. 

Captain  Ike  was  as  good  as  his  word.  By  the  end 
of  an  hour  John  had  not  learned  to  swim,  but  he  had 
acquired  what  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end,  the 
belief  that  water  could  n't  drown  him. 


CHAPTEK  III 

TWO  weeks  later  John  stood  on  the  deck  of  a 
steamer  bound  for  Hamburg  and  watched  clouds 
and  distance  play  tricks  with  New  York's  sky  line. 
His  mind  was  still  in  strange  confusion.  How  was  it 
that  after  two  short  months  in  his  native  land  he  turned 
his  back  on  it  almost  without  regret  and  faced  a  return 
to  Europe  almost,  if  not  quite,  cheerfully?  Were  his 
dreams  of  years  so  easy  of  fulfilment  that  it  took  but 
a  few  days  to  quench  their  long  desire?  Had  it  been 
quenched  or  had  it  died  of  thirst? 

For  all  his  acquired  wisdom  he  was  still  too  young 
to  see  himself  clearly,  try  as  he  might.  Anybody's 
mother  could  have  told  him,  "  Why,  you  poor  boy,  you 
have  n't  been  home  at  all !  You  and  your  dad  have 
been  traveling  in  your  foreign  countries  all  the  time 
and  you  've  been  seeing  America  through  a  car  window 
and  a  telescope  a  century  long." 

It  was  true.  Until  he  has  revisited  the  concrete 
scenes  of  his  youth,  until  he  has  felt  the  shock  of 
finding  the  mansion  in  which  he  was  born  shrunk  to 
the  proportions  of  a  very  modest  village  house  and  the 
precipice  in  the  barn,  rafter  to  manger,  down  which 
he  tumbled  and  miraculously  lived  to  tell  the  tale,  re- 
duced to  the  size  of  a  safe  jump  for  a  hen  with  a 

22 


„  JOHN    BOGAKDUS  23 

broken  leg;  until,  the  cold  dew  of  dawn  tickling  his 
ankles,  he  has  picked  a  crisp  early  apple  and  bitten 
into  it  or  watched  a  straw-hatted  urchin  at  the  old 
pool  under  the  willow  catch  a  sucker  with  a  worm,  a 
bent  pin,  and  a  piece  cut  out  of  his  father's  best  trawl- 
line  ;  until  his  eyes  have  dimmed  before  these  sights  and 
his  heart  swelled  before  a  thousand  lesser  memories,  no 
man  has  returned  to  his  native  land. 

John  looked  back  on  his  two  months  and  saw  a  ruck 
of  distant  high  lights  that  had  kept  their  distance,  all 
but  the  kindly  man  who  had  clutched  him  and  pulled 
him  by  the  hair  into  the  reach  of  friendship.  Of  all 
the  boys  and  girls,  women  and  men,  that  had  scintil- 
lated across  his  vision  like  pastels  in  a  frieze,  Captain 
Ike  alone  stood  out,  alive,  warm,  clothed  in  flesh  and 
blood. 

From  such  meager  fare  the  boy  returned  to  Europe 
only  to  find  that  it  too  had  lost  its  savor.  He  decided 
to  take  his  degree  with  as  little  trouble  to  himself  as 
possible  and  consequently  passed  by  his  old  university 
to  Leipzig  where  his  thesis  on  Romanic  and  the  Renais- 
sance, into  which  he  managed  to  introduce  a  challenge 
of  three  of  the  derivations  of  the  supreme  authority, 
Diez,  that  pillar  of  Bonn,  was  accepted  not  only  with 
praise  but  with  glee. 

This  matter  off  his  mind,  he  wrote  to  his  father  from 
a  sense  of  filial  duty  and  to  Captain  Ike  on  impulse. 
Then,  unable  to  decide  what  he  would  do  next,  he  loafed 
about  the  old  university  town  and  wondered  why  the 
whole  world  seemed  empty  to  his  freedom.  A  postal 
card  from  the  captain  suddenly  changed  his  point  of 


24:  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

view.  It  was  short  but  potent  as  magic :  "  If  you 
have  got  nothing  better  to  do  meet  me  at  Plymouth  end 
of  April." 

The  end  of  April  was  still  a  month  away  but  John 
crossed  at  once  from  Calais  to  Dover  with  the  idea  of 
killing  time  by  walking  the  length  of  the  south  coast. 
The  highways  and  byways  of  the  southern  counties  were 
already  held  and  holding  all  that  came  their  way  in 
the  thrall  of  spring.  He  wandered  lazily  and  was  con- 
tent. He  smiled  back  at  the  primroses  gleaming  from 
a  background  of  mud,  and  once,  carried  away,  he  waved 
his  arm  full  length  in  answer  to  the  greeting  of  the 
budding  gorse  on  a  warm,  protected  hillside.  The 
blood  in  his  veins  throbbed  in  unison  with  the  rising 
sap  of  a  world  in  resurrection.  When  birds  sang  he 
whistled  a  reply;  he  even  mooed  at  lowing  cows,  and 
stopped  five  minutes  to  rub  the  nose  of  a  friendly  pony 
that  had  thrust  his  head  over  a  hedge  and  whinnied 
"Hello!" 

One  warm  afternoon,  still  in  the  mood  of  the  friendly 
pony,  the  cows,  the  singing  birds,  and  the  joy  of  re- 
viving things,  he  reached  the  town  of  Lewes  and  wan- 
dered for  an  hour  through  its  still  streets,  bounded  by 
close-cropped  hedgerows  and  quaint  neat  houses,  dream- 
ing over  their  long,  long  past  and  breathing  a  spirit  of 
peace. 

He  had  all  but  left  the  town  behind  when  he  came 
upon  a  little  place  that  caught  the  eye  by  its  air  of 
incipient  neglect.  Its  hedge  and  tiny  lawn  needed  bar- 
bering  badly,  there  was  a  smudge  of  rot  in  the  thick 
thatched  roof,  a  fallen  rose-vine  lifted  up  appealing 


y  JOHN   BOGARDTJS  25 

shoots  from  the  ground  and  cried  aloud  for  a  helping 
hand.  As  John  reached  the  wide  arch  in  the  hedge 
over  the  front  path,  a  scene,  vivid  as  a  scene  in  a  play, 
met  his  vision  and  arrested  his  steps. 

The  thatched  roof  of  the  cottage  was  prolonged  into 
a  deep  gable  over  the  wide  front  door,  forming  a  little 
porch  with  two  short  benches  on  the  sides.  On  one  of 
these  benches  sat  a  big-boned  woman  with  a  pair  of 
crutches.  Her  face  was  flabby  and  her  clothes  hung 
loosely  upon  her,  as  though  skin  and  clothes  had  been 
made  to  fit  a  plump,  broad,  comfortable  person  that 
had  shrunk  away  from  them.  John  could  see  tears 
rolling  slowly  down  her  cheeks,  following  deep,  new- 
made  furrows  of  pain. 

On  the  other  bench  sat  a  child,  eight  or  nine  years 
old,  a  girl,  clutching  at  her  breast  with  tightly  clenched 
little  fists  and  gazing  steadfastly,  angrily,  at  a  man  who, 
with  his  back  to  John,  crouched  toward  her.  The  little 
girl's  dark  hair  was  short,  chopped  off  just  above  her 
shoulders,  and  without  being  curly  was  full  of  rebel- 
lious twists  and  waves.  Rebellion  was  in  her  black 
eyes,  in  her  flushed  cheeks,  in  her  tiny  firm  chin. 

"  Will  ye  give  it  me,  ye  little  spitfire  ?  "  snarled  the 
man. 

"  No,  Papa,"  said  the  child,  in  a  voice  choked  not 
with  tears  but  with  rage. 

"  Papa !  Hear  her !  Papa !  "  mimicked  the  man 
drunkenly. 

"  No,  Papa,  no,"  repeated  the  child. 

"  You  have  n't  a  papa,"  jeered  the  man.  "  Hear 
me  ?  You  're  a  stray,  a  changeling,  you  are.  Eatin' 


26  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

charity  food  an'  hoardin'  up  your  gold."  He  reached 
forward  and  clutched  at  her  hands. 

"  No,  Papa,  no !  "  cried  the  child. 

The  man  caught  her  little  clenched  fists,  forced  them 
open,  and  seized  the  golden  sovereign  they  had  been 
guarding.  It  was  attached  to  a  thin  chain  that  passed 
around  her  neck.  With  a  jerk  he  broke  the  chain  and 
doubling  his  fist  tightly  over  the  coin,  turned  with  a 
curse  to  stumble  down  the  steps  to  the  street.  John 
drew  back  and  let  him  pass.  He  watched  him  stagger 
down  the  road,  tearing  with  his  teeth  at  the  ring  welded 
to  the  sovereign's  edge. 

From  the  stoop  came  the  little  voice,  choked  now 
with  unshed  tears  as  well  as  with  rage.  "  N-n-no, 
Papa,  n-n-no!"  gasped  the  child,  her  hands  still 
clutched  and  quivering  against  her  breast,  her  eyes 
staring  straight  before  her  from  a  little  face  suddenly 
gone  white.  Through  all  the  scene  the  woman  had  sat 
absolutely  still,  the  tears  coursing  faster  and  faster 
down  her  cheeks. 

John's  heart  pounded  in  his  chest.  He  started  in 
through  the  arch,  paused,  and  then  walked  rapidly  the 
few  steps  to  the  porch.  It  was  in  his  mind  to  tell  the 
little  girl  not  to  cry,  but  when  he  had  drawn  near  he 
was  amazed  to  see  that  she  was  not  crying,  that  her 
eyes  were  quite  dry.  Only  in  her  voice  there  were 
tears  as,  paying  no  attention  to  him,  she  repeated  again, 
"  N-n-no,  n-n-no,  no! " 

"Oh,  darling,"  gasped  the  woman,  "please,  don't. 
Oh,  please,  don't." 

With  one  foot  on  the  low  step  of  the  porch  John 


a  JOHN   BOGARDUS  27 

leaned  forward  and  held  out  a  gold  coin  to  the  little 
girl.  She  gave  it  one  quick  glance  and  with  a  curl 
of  her  lip  clenched  her  little  fists  the  tighter  against 
her  breast.  All  sovereigns  are  not  alike  to  the  heart 
of  a  child. 

"  Young  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  don't  think  she  's 
hard  and  thankless  and  unladylike.  It 's  not  a  sover- 
eign that  '11  heal  the  wound  in  her  breast." 

John  picked  the  little  girl  up  in  his  arms.  She 
struggled  to  be  put  down,  not  violently,  but  as  though 
she  were  very  old  and  it  bored  her  to  be  handled.  He 
only  held  her  the  closer  and  sitting  down  on  the  bench 
took  her  on  his  knees,  smoothed  out  her  little  smock, 
and  suddenly  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  been  bitten  by 
a  dog. 

Her  thoughts  were  on  the  wing  but  that  quick  shot 
brought  them  down.  "  No,"  she  said  and,  after  a 
pause,  "  Have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  and  stopped. 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  I  bit  him  back,"  said  John  gravely. 

"  And  what  did  he  do  then  ? "  asked  the  little  girl. 

"  He  was  surprised,"  said  John. 

On  that  remark  the  two  of  them  pondered  solemnly 
for  a  long  time.  It  was  the  woman  that  broke  the  si- 
lence as  she  saw  the  child  relax  her  tense  body  and  sink 
softly  against  John's  shoulder.  "  Oh,  sir,"  she  said, 
"  you  do  know  'em,  the  little  ones." 

John  smiled  and  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  glanced 
down  at  the  child  in  his  arms.  "  I  ? "  he  said, 
and  laughed.  Then  he  looked  frankly  at  the  woman. 


28 

"  This  is  the  first  time  in  all  my  life  that  I  've  held 
a  kiddie  in  my  lap.  Won't  you  tell  me  about 
her?"  . 

The  woman  had  stopped  crying  but  she  still  was 
very  still,  and  her  stillness  was  flat  like  the  stillness  of 
a  sack  of  meal.  "  It  was  n't  always  like  this,"  she  said, 
with  a  movement  around  of  her  eyes  that  was  like  a 
gesture.  "  Our  little  place  was  the  neatest  of  all  once 
and  the  dearest.  Clean  it  was  and  healthy  for  flowers, 
a  happy  place  for  a  child.  So  Jim  and  me,  we  an- 
swered a  notice  in  the  paper." 

She  paused,  her  wandering  eyes  coming  to  anchor 
on  the  child  that  drowsed  against  John's  shoulder. 
"  That  was  three  year  ago.  A  lady  brought  her.  She 
was  a  little  mite  then,  five,  six  year  old  an'  small  for 
her  age,  but  she  seemed  like  she  was  ten  in  her  ways 
and  now  that  she  is  eight  she  seems  more  like  twelve ; 
so  wise,  so  quiet,  and  never  any  trouble.  The  lady 
said  she'd  send  us  two  pounds  a  week  for  her  keep 
and  that  the  girlie  was  to  have  always  the  best. 

"  For  a  long  time  she  sent  two  pounds  a  week,  then 
she  wrote  a  letter  and  said  she  could  only  send  one 
pound  a  week  and  the  little  girl  must  have  second  best 
for  a  while.  Then,  'most  a  year  ago,  she  never  sent 
any  more  nor  wrote,  and  we  could  n't  write  to  her  be- 
cause we  did  n't  know  where.  At  first  she  had  always 
sent  from  London  but  afterwards  when  it  was  only  one 
pound  she  sent  mostly  from  province  towns,  big  towns 
and  then  smaller  ones,  always  different. 

"  It  would  never  have  mattered  to  Jim  and  me,  her 
not  sending,  if  I  had  kept  my  old  self.  Strong,  I  was, 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  29 

and  broad ;  a  woman  to  work  and  to  eat,  too.  My  man, 
Jim,  he  was  strong,  too,  and  steady,  an'  we  both  loved 
Mother." 

"  Mother  ?  "  said  John,  questioningly. 

"  Yes,  the  child,"  said  the  woman.  "  Janice  is  her 
name,  but  Jim  —  he  was  playful  once  —  an'  he  called 
her  Mother  because  she  was  so  old  in  her  ways.  So  we 
always  called  her  Mother.  Then  it  happened,  my  fall, 
an'  I  lost  the  use  of  my  two  legs.  For  a  while  Jim 
kept  up  his  cheer  an'  could  n't  praise  the  child  enough 
for  the  way  she  'd  try  to  help,  crying  like  she  did  once 
because  she  couldn't  carry  me  in  one  day  when  it 
rained." 

The  woman  paused  for  a  moment  and  tears,  unheeded 
as  before,  started  crawling  down  her  cheeks.  "  Then 
came  the  drink."  Her  wet  eyes  fastened  on  John's 
intent  face.  "  Young  sir,  my  man  was  a  good  man 
once,  but  now,  ever  since  the  doctor  said  as  I  was  this 
way  for  always  —  Days  and  days  he 's  been  bullyin' 
the  child  like  you  seen  him.  I  remember  when  her 
lady  mother  put  the  sovereign  and  the  chain  around  her 
neck,  laughin'  an'  tellin'  her  that  so  long  as  ever  she 
kept  it  she  'd  never  be  poor !  For  days  an'  days  he 's 
been  callin'  her  hard,  hard  names  like  you  heard  him, 
an'  some  day  he  '11  —  he  '11  strike  her,  an'  then  my  heart 
will  break.  Oh,  he 's  not  my  man  now,  he 's  no  more 
my  Jim." 

The  little  girl,  exhausted  by  the  climax  of  that  long, 
losing  struggle,  had  fallen  asleep.  John  held  her  close, 
very  close,  his  eyes  full  of  dreams.  He  began  talking 
to  the  woman,  craftily  at  first  and  then  boldly,  as 


30  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

though  he  played  for  a  stake  he  could  better  afford  to 
lose  than  to  win. 

"  You  can  tell  him,"  finished  John,  "  that  the  lady 
came  while  he  was  away  drinking  and  that  all  she  could 
give  you  was  ten  pounds." 

"  No,"  said  the  woman.  "  I  '11  not  take  ten  pounds 
from  you  and  you  with  the  child  to  do  for.  Two 
pounds  will  keep  Jim  drunk  for  a  fortnight  and  what 
more  need  have  I  once  little  Mother  is  gone  ? " 

They  woke  the  child  and  the  woman  talked  to  her. 
The  little  girl  turned  grave  eyes  on  John.  "  And  you 
will  he  my  new  papa  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No,  Mother,"  said  John,  smiling  down  at  her. 
"  I  '11  be  just  your  boy  —  the  biggest  doll  a  little  mother 
ever  had." 

Her  face  broke  slowly  to  a  smile,  a  strange  smile  that 
seemed,  almost  consciously,  to  humor  these  grown-ups; 
and  their  playful  folly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOHN"  was  not  nervous  by  nature,  but  lie  was  very 
nervous  indeed  at  the  moment  of  entering  the  train 
for  Brighton.  On  his  back  was  his  own  knapsack,  in 
one  hand  he  carried  the  little  girl's  absurdly  little  bun- 
dle, and  in  the  other  he  held  her  soft,  clinging  hand. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  veriest  passer-by  could  not 
let  that  cortege  escape  without  a  question. 

His  fears  soon  died.  During  the  short  run  to 
Brighton  no  one  entered  their  second-class  compartment 
and  once  the  child  and  he  were  equally  among  strangers 
he  began  to  feel  easier.  People  seldom  noticed  them 
without  smiling  and  some  even  made  love  to  Janice, 
but  no  one  ever  asked  him  whence  they  came  or  whither 
they  were  bound,  and  all  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  he  was  her  brother  and  her  guardian  to  some  near 
destination.  Even  at  Plymouth  where  he  took  modest 
rooms  in  a  house  overlooking  the  harbor  entrance  no 
one  seemed  to  find  the  pair  a  puzzle  or,  if  they  did, 
tried  to  solve  it. 

During  the  six  days  that  passed  before  the  Alex- 
andrine, flying  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  was  towed  in  to 
her  anchorage,  John  had  no  pleasures  and  no  moments 
that  Janice  did  not  share.  His  own  acquired  age  now 
served  him  well.  Women  were  not  the  mystery  to  him 

that   they   are,    almost   invariably,   to  carefully  bred 

31 


32  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

American  youths  of  his  years.  He  held  the  European 
point  of  view;  that  women  differ  from  the  rest  of  hu- 
man beings  only  in  that  they  are  two  shades  more 
human.  Consequently,  the  little  exigencies  that  might 
have  stumped  any  one  of  a  million  American  males  far 
more  advanced  in  years  than  he,  found  him  unem- 
barrassed and  competent. 

On  passing  for  the  first  time  from  her  own  tiny 
room  to  John's  larger  apartment  and  noting  the  big 
double  bed,  Janice  instantly  demanded,  with  one  of 
those  precocious  flashes  of  jealousy  so  astonishing  in 
children,  "  Why  does  My  Boy  have  two  pillows  ?  " 

And,  after  an  infinitesimal  pause,  John  had  an- 
swered, "  I  always  have  two  when  I  can ;  one  for  the 
Brownies.  They  come  and  talk  to  me  while  I  'm  asleep 
and  when  I  wake  up  I  think  I  have  been  dreaming." 

The  last  hard  year  at  Lewes  had  taught  Janice  that 
she  could  n't  have  everything  for  the  asking,  so  she 
at  once  set  to  work  to  collect  the  makings  of  an  extra 
pillow.  Her  sudden  passion  for  shavings  and  old  rags 
puzzled  John  for  a  day  or  two,  but  when  she  asked  him 
if  he  thought  she  might  have  a  needle  for  her  very 
own,  his  eyes  were  opened.  Some  men  are  generous 
with  money  because  they  are  too  lazy  to  be  generous  with 
time  and  trouble,  but  John  was  generous  with  himself. 
He  became  Janice's  assistant  and  errand  boy,  acting 
at  the  same  time  for  the  board  of  health,  and  it  took 
them  three  days  to  make  the  pillow. 

When  John  went  down  to  meet  the  captain,  Janice, 
in  a  clean  little  smock,  went  with  him.  They  were  the 
first  thing  the  captain's  eyes  fell  on  as  he  climbed 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  33 

ashore.  "  Hello,  son,"  cried  Captain  Ike ;  "  picked  up 
a  lady  friend,  have  ye  ?  " 

Greetings  over,  the  captain  suggested  that  Janice  be 
"  stowed  with  her  ma,"  so  that  they  two  could  hustle 
around  and  tend  to  business. 

"  She  has  n't  any  ma,"  said  John ;  "  she 's  mine  at 
present." 

"  Yourn  ? "  cried  the  captain,  aghast.  Then  the 
color  mounted  in  his  naturally  florid  cheeks.  "  When 
I  saw  you,  son,  I  thought  you  was  going  to  go  a  voyage 
with  me." 

John's  heart  sank.  "  So  we  are,"  he  said,  over  a 
lump  in  his  throat. 

Captain  Ike  heard  that  lump  and  it  kept  him  from 
disillusioning  the  boy  on  the  spot.  He  agreed  to  have 
dinner  with  John  and  Janice  and  they  separated  for 
the  longest  day  in  John's  life. 

After  quite  a  merry  dinner  whose  gaiety  was  in  no 
little  part  due  to  the  extraordinary  poise  of  the  young 
hostess  of  eight,  the  party  adjourned  to  John's  rooms 
for  a  conference. 

"  Captain  Ike,"  said  John,  his  heart  in  his  voice, 
"  let  me  tell  you  how  it  was." 

He  described  his  walk  from  Dover,  told  him  about 
the  feel  of  things,  the  primroses  and  the  friendly  pony, 
and  gave  him  a  picture  of  the  dreaming  suburbs  of  the 
town  of  Lewes.  Then  he  sprang  upon  the  captain  the 
scene  through  the  arch  in  the  neglected  hedge  as  it 
had  been  sprung  upon  himself.  Through  the  rest  of 
the  tale  Janice  sat  very  straight  on  the  edge  of  her 
chair,  her  legs  hanging  motionless,  well  up  from  the 


34  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

floor.  Her  face  grew  quite  white  and  her  chin  trem- 
bled. 

Before  John  had  finished  the  captain  had  begun 
blowing  his  nose,  shuffling  his  feet,  and  blinking  his 
eyes.  "  Son,"  he  asked,  "  was  that  bucko-brute  big- 
ger 'n  what  you  are  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  and  he  was  drunk.  It  would 
have  been  easy  and  done  me  good  to  thrash  him,  but 
would  it  have  done  anybody  else  any  good  ?  " 

The  captain  nodded  his  head  slowly  as  he  pondered. 
"  Ever  seen  a  bill  of  health,"  he  asked  at  last,  "  and 
what  it  wants  to  know  about  '  persons  on  board,'  where 
they  come  from,  what  you  done  with  the  cat  you  had 
last  port  of  call,  an'  how  did  the  deckhand  get  that 
bump  behind  the  ear  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  smiling,  "  but  why  should  n't 
Mother  and  I  be  just  passengers  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  saying,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  the  Alex- 
andrine has  never  carried  a  passenger  license,  but  it  'a 
a  long  day  from  now  to  then  when  our  clippers  were 
lookin'  for  a  reckerd  every  time  they  put  to  sea.  No, 
you  an'  Mother,  if  you  go  at  all,  '11  have  to  show  on 
ship's  papers  under  the  headin',  l  Master's  family.'  " 

"  Hurray !  "  cried  John,  and  grabbing  Janice's  hands 
danced  around  the  room  with  her.  She  cast  her  slow 
smile  over  her  shoulder  at  the  captain  as  though  they 
two  knew  what  it  was  to  have  to  humor  the  young. 

"  Where  are  we  bound  for  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  South  Africa,"  said  the  captain.  "  It 's  a  long 
voyage.  What  about  her  things  ?  " 

Janice  fetched  all  her  wardrobe  and  laid  it  out  piece 


y  JOHN   BOGARDUS  35 

by  tiny  piece  on  John's  bed.  "H'm,"  said  Captain 
Ike,  "  with  the  bo's'n  washin'  the  day  things  while 
she  's  asleep  and  the  nighties  in  the  mornin',  they  might 
last  two-three  weeks,  then  they  'd  be  wore  out.  Son, 
you  'n  me  '11  have  to  do  some  shoppin'  to-morrer 
mornin'." 

Never  did  two  full-grown  males  face  a  herculean 
task  with  more  courage  and  singleness  of  heart  than 
did  these  two.  The  debate  as  to  whether  they  should 
take  samples  or  Janice  herself  as  an  ocular  exhibit 
of  what  they  needed  was  settled  promptly  by  the  lady 
in  the  case.  She  went ;  and  before  they  had  been  five 
minutes  in  the  shop  she  and  the  young  woman  behind 
the  counter  had  pushed  the  captain  and  his  crew  of  one 
off  the  bridge  into  the  scuppers.  The  captain  was  re- 
duced to  the  sole  function  of  saying,  "  Six,"  every  time 
Janice  said,  "  I  '11  have  one  of  these,  if  I  may,  thank 
you." 

John's  life  was  to  be  one  of  rapid  mutations,  but 
through  all  its  vicissitudes  he  was  to  remember  that 
voyage,  Plymouth  to  Durban,  as  a  happy  time,  a  time 
not  so  much  of  growth  as  of  well-being,  long  days  when 
time  itself  was  not,  banished  from  mind  by  an  all- 
pervading  content.  A  single  cloud,  pointed  out  by 
Captain  Ike,  hovered  on  his  far  horizon.  "  It 's  all 
very  fine,  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ?  " 

Before  they  had  been  out  a  week  little  Janice  had 
become  Mother  to  the  whole  ship's  company,  'fore  and 
abaft  the  mast,  and  to  the  ship's  cat.  She  was  not 
into  everything  like  a  mischievous  monkey,  far  from 
it;  but  she  moved  through  every  domain  with  an  in- 


36  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

congruous  dignity  that  made  her  no  less  beloved  and 
brought  horny-handed  men  with  humbly  offered  tribute 
to  her  feet. 

Nothing  surprised  her,  not  even  the  full-rigged  ship 
in  a  bottle  that  it  took  the  bo's'n  four  weeks  to  make, 
but  she  showed  such  a  calm  and  steadfast  pride  in  all 
her  possessions  that  each  succeeding  day  was  an  ac- 
knowledgment added  to  her  initial,  "  Thank  you  so 
much." 

It  was  no  wind-jammer  crew  that  manned  the  Alex- 
andrine. Not  to  have  sailed  in  her  five  voyages  made 
of  a  man  a  newcomer,  subject  to  frequent  snubs  on  all 
matters  pertaining  to  the  personality  not  only  of  that 
particular  ship  but  of  all  the  fast-diminishing  clipper 
fleet  that  sailed  under  the  Old  Man's  name.  There 
were  men  aboard  who  had  bred  sons  and  launched  them 
into  the  world  on  earnings  from  the  Alexandrine,  and 
other  men,  youngsters,  whose  fathers  had  handled  her 
sweat-polished  wheel  before  them.  Such  a  breed  could 
understand  steadfastness. 

As  John  watched  the  child  winning  hearts  and  hold- 
ing them,  he  began  to  know  how  firmly  his  own  was 
coming  to  be  held  in  the  keeping  of  her  two  little  hands 
and  to  doubt  the  wisdom  with  which  he  had  foreseen 
and  solved,  even  as  far  back  as  on  the  stoop  of  the 
little  house  in  Lewes,  the  problem  that  Captain  Ike 
now  pressed  to  his  attention. 

What  John  had  thought  back  there  in  Lewes  was 
that  if  a  young  man  bound  for  the  whole  wide  world 
was  worth  his  salt  he  could  soon  find  a  better  and  a 
safer  home  for  so  winsome  and  unusual  a  child  as 


y  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  37 

Janice.  Could  James  Bogardus  have  witnessed  his 
son's  naive  assumption  of  this  monster  responsibility  he 
would  have  revised  his  opinion  that  John  was  old  for 
his  years  and  in  doing  so,  he  would  only  have  set  his1 
face  toward  further  and  repeated  revisions.  He  was 
at  once  too  near  and  too  far  from  his  son  to  see  that 
the  boy  was  as  unequal  in  development  as  had  been  his 
training.  He  was  old  in  knowledge,  young  as  morn- 
ing in  the  things  of  the  heart. 

Durban  was  just  beginning  to  draw  a  long  breath 
of  prosperity.  The  effects  of  the  depression  and  finan- 
cial cyclone  that  had  fallen  upon  the  port  immedi- 
ately following  the  Boer  War  were  already  fading  in 
the  light  of  a  new  dawn,  and  people  were  just  real- 
izing that  most  of  those  who  had  succeeded  in  stav- 
ing off  foundering  could  at  last  consider  that  they  had 
definitely  weathered  the  storm.  Here  and  there  one 
still  came  upon  worried  eyes  and  drawn  faces,  but  for 
the  most  part  the  inhabitants  seemed  to  share  the  light- 
heartedness  of  the  ever-increasing  troops  of  up-county 
holiday-makers  whose  money  flowed  in  just  in  time  to 
save  the  port  from  economic  decomposition. 

Peace  fled  the  decks  of  the  Alexandrine  from  the 
moment  she  dropped  anchor  and  John  soon  formed  the 
habit  of  leaving  her  in  the  early  morning,  taking  Janice 
with  him,  of  course,  to  return  only  at  the  beckoning  of 
the  ship's  riding  lights.  Together  the  two  wandered 
about  the  town,  seeking  mild  adventures  among  its 
shops,  its  Indian  quarter,  on  the  beach,  already  show- 
ing signs  of  becoming  the  Coney  Island  of  South  Af- 
rica, and  on  the  hills  of  the  Berea,  dotted  with  the 


38  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

well-kept  villas  of  the  local  aristocracy  —  an  aristocracy 
none  the  less  solid  for  resting  its  foundations  on  pickled 
herring  and  the  yard-stick. 

In  the  memory-gallery  of  more  than  one  Durbanite 
still  hangs  the  picture  of  a  handsome  youth  in  rough 
tweeds,  sometimes  leading  by  the  hand  and  sometimes 
carrying  on  his  shoulder  a  black-eyed  little  girl  that 
might  well  have  been  his  sister.  The  two  were  by  no 
means  to  be  confused  with  the  waning  throngs  of  holi- 
day makers.  Against  the  background  of  ordinary  trip- 
pers they  stood  out  peculiarly  distinct,  reminiscent  of 
the  days  when  Durban  was  not  a  resort  but  a  port,  the 
doubtful  haven  of  ships,  waifs,  and  strays. 

It  was  the  indigenous  whose  eyes  were  caught  by  the 
young  couple  and  who  frequently  spoke  to  them  with 
the  freedom  that  flourishes  in  new  countries  and  marks 
the  clan  of  the  pioneer.  The  men  were  drawn  by 
Janice's  quaint  person,  and  most  of  the  women  said  it 
was  Janice's  quaint  person  that  drew  them  even  while 
their  too-friendly  eyes  passed  over  John  approvingly. 

South  African  femininity  is  a  peculiar  composition 
whose  major  division  is  made  up  of  equal  parts  of  lan- 
guor, sun,  smiles,  and  flame,  and  finds  its  many  recruits 
among  the  women  who  do  not  struggle,  the  women  who 
are  too  soft  and  warm  for  the  enduring  clasp  of  tradi- 
tion, who  live  by  the  senses  alone  and  bask  content  in 
the  moral  Nirvana  of  hot  countries.  But  there  is  the 
minority,  who  hold  steadfastly  to  antecedent  faiths, 
whose  inner  life  has  withstood  or  transcended  the  test 
of  their  surroundings,  and  who  without  becoming  hard 
have  grown  firm  and  yet  continued  lovable. 


it  JOHN    BOGAKDUS  39 

It  was  fated  that  John  should  meet  on  the  same  day 
a  representative  of  each  of  these  divisions  of  woman- 
kind. The  first  was  a  tall  dark  woman  with  sleepy 
eyes,  languid  until  she  was  awakened,  and  then  sud- 
denly alive  and  vibrant.  She  had  seen  John  and 
Janice  before.  On  the  first  occasion  she  had  paused 
and  looked  over  her  shoulder,  on  the  second  she  walked 
straight  up  to  them  and  said  in  a  low  and  pleasant 
voice,  "  Oh,  you  little  darling !  "  Then,  turning  def- 
initely to  John,  "  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

In  five  minutes,  without  appearing  in  the  least  ab- 
rupt, she  had  invited  and  carried  them  away  to  lunch. 
The  husband  not  appearing,  they  three  found  them- 
selves alone  in  a  well-appointed  house  that  reflected  its 
mistress  in  its  lazy  lounges,  soft  cushions,  and  in  its 
tropical  light  subdued  by  carefully  chosen  shades,  as 
well  as  in  its  excellent  French  mirrors. 

That  Janice  was  to  the  lady  merely  a  point  of  pur- 
chase from  which  she  intended  to  spring  into  John's 
good  graces  soon  became  a  self-evident  fact  which  she 
tried  neither  to  gloss  over  nor  to  emphasize.  With  a 
good-natured  sweep  of  her  eyes  she  occasionally  brought 
her  little  guest  into  the  picture  but  never  into  the  talk, 
which  after  the  first  few  moments  she  addressed  to  John 
and  to  John  alone. 

After  lunch  she  took  them  into  an  informal  living- 
room,  placed  Janice  before  a  table  and  a  picture-book, 
and  led  John  on  from  books  to  bibelots  and  scattered 
photographs.  When  they  walked  she  brushed  against 
him  lightly  and  when  they  stood  she  came  so  near  that 
he  could  see  the  fast  pulse  in  her  throat,  hear  her  dress 


40 

move  over  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom,  and  feel  in 
his  own  veins  the  reflected  glow  of  the  fire  in  hers. 

"  Would  n't  the  little  girl  like  to  go  out  to  play  ? " 
she  asked  casually. 

The  words  brought  John  back  to  himself.  He 
glanced  instinctively  at  Janice  and  saw  that  her  quick 
ears  had  heard.  Her  little  body  stiffened,  her  face 
went  white,  and  she  gave  the  lady  such  a  steady,  seeing 
look  as  only  one  woman  can  give  another.  So,  at  least, 
it  seemed  to  John,  who  in  an  instant  was  carried  back 
to  their  beginning  of  things  and  expected  Janice's  lips 
to  open  to  her  first  passionate  cry  of,  "  No,  Papa,  no !  " 
—  the  cry  that  had  gone  straight  to  his  heart  and  stayed 
there  ever  since. 

"  Not  unless  I  go  too,"  he  said  calmly,  turning  from 
the  lady  with  the  quiet  assurance  of  experience. 

He  left  her  puzzled  and,  striding  across  the  room, 
picked  Janice  up  in  his  arms.  She  did  not  struggle  to 
be  put  down,  for  she  had  learned  long  since  that  this 
was  My  Boy's  sole  gesture  of  protection  and  love. 


CHAPTEK  V 

JOHN  refused  the  offer  of  the  lady,  who  had  turned 
languid  again,  to  have  the  trap  set  them  down 
anywhere  they  liked,  and  he  and  Janice  started  off  for 
a  ramble  along  the  crest  of  the  long,  low  mountain.  As 
they  were  coming  back,  headed  for  the  Point  and  the 
Alexandrine,  Janice  ran  a  few  paces  ahead  in  pursuit 
of  a  swirl  of  yellow  butterflies.  Out  of  a  break  in  the 
high  hedge  suddenly  shot  a  carriage  and  pair  and  a 
frightened  Coolie  coachman.  John  hurled  himself  for- 
ward, clutched  Janice  by  the  skirt,  and  snatched  her 
back  into  the  muddy  ditch  by  the  roadside. 

At  the  same  time  the  Coolie  coachman  dragged  the 
horses  back  on  their  haunches.  The  carriage,  in  which 
a  lady  was  rising  to  her  feet,  came  to  a  stop.  "  How 
often  have  I  told  you  to  be  careful  ?  "  she  said  to  the 
coachman,  tensely.  "  How  often !  " 

"  He  was  n't  really  driving  fast,"  said  John.  "  It 
just  happened." 

Janice,  always  particularly  neat  in  her  person,  was 
looking  down  at  her  mud-stained  smock  with  dismay. 
Suddenly  shame  came  over  her,  she  blushed,  and  coming 
close  to  John,  hid  her  face  against  his  rough  coat. 
He  was  surprised,  for  he  had  never  seen  her  shy  be- 
fore. 

But  Janice  was  not  shy.     Only  one  woman  in  a 

thousand  could  have  read  that  gesture  aright  and  the 

41 


42 

lady  in  the  carriage  happened  to  be  one  in  a  thousand. 
As  she  stepped  down  she  said  to  the  coachman,  "  Don't 
wait  for  me.  Go  and  fetch  your  master." 

Then  she  turned  to  Janice  and  said  in  a  soft,  friendly 
voice,  "  Now,  my  dear,  you  can't  possibly  go  home  like 
that,  can  you  ?  Come  on  up  to  the  house  and  let 's  see 
what  we  can  do." 

Holding  the  lady's  hand  with  one  of  her  own  and 
John's  with  the  other,  Janice  walked  up  the  drive  with 
eyes  fixed  ahead  lest  they  fall  again  on  that  very  ugly 
blot.  She  seemed  almost  glad  to  leave  John  alone  on 
the  veranda  and  he  had  time  to  reflect  that  this  lady 
had  not  talked  at  him  through  Janice,  had  not,  in  fact, 
talked  at  or  to  him  at  all.  He  liked  her. 

The  house  was  very  peaceful,  the  light  in  the  rooms 
opening  on  the  veranda  was  subdued  not  by  secretive 
shades  but  by  clambering  vines  and  shadowing  trees, 
and  there  were  dim  recesses  that  waited  for  the  pupil 
of  the  eye  to  dilate  to  the  tone  of  their  friendly  shad- 
ows before  they  fully  disclosed  their  charms. 

When  Janice  came  back  to  John,  who  had  strolled 
into  a  large  living-room,  she  was  on  fire  with  excite- 
ment. Her  short  hair,  freshly  combed  and  brushed, 
looked  as  if  it  would  break  into  long  waves  and  undu- 
lations if  only  it  could  reach  far  enough,  her  cheeks 
were  aglow,  and  her  face  and  her  hands  exhaled  a 
faint  fragrance  of  soap.  But  above  and  beyond  all 
these  things  she  was  dressed  in  a  charming  little  white 
frock. 

So  well  did  the  pretty  dress  fit  and  become  her  that 
John  gave  way  to  the  feeling  of  wonder  of  one  brought 


y'  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  43 

face  to  face  with  magic.  His  glance  passed  to  the  lady 
standing  in  the  doorway,  one  hand  resting  on  the  door- 
jamb  and  trembling,  her  lower  lip,  trembling  a  little 
too,  and  her  eyes,  wide  open  and  moist,  looking  at 
Janice  but  staring  far  beyond,  and  he  understood  bet- 
ter than  any  other  tongues  could  have  told  him  that 
a  memory  dressed  in  a  little  white  frock  was  playing 
in  the  room. 

In  the  wide  front  doorway  appeared  a  big  bob-tailed 
sheep-dog,  gray  and  white,  pink  tip  of  tongue  hanging 
pendent  to  a  jet-black  nose,  kind  eyes  blinking  under 
forbidding  brows,  stocky  legs  absurdly  woolly.  He  was 
friendly,  like  the  house. 

"  Oh !  "  breathed  Janice,  standing  very  still  and 
staring.  "  Please,  what  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Just  Woolly,"  said  the  lady,  and  caught  her 
breath. 

The  dog  gave  vent  to  a  single  high  note,  startling 
because  unlike  the  bark  of  other  dogs,  it  stood  alone. 
"  He  's  calling  you,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Eeally  ?  "  said  Janice.  She  ran  forward,  laid  her 
hand  tentatively  on  the  dog's  silky  head,  and  the  next 
moment  had  her  arms  around  his  neck.  He  led  her 
away  down  the  veranda.  "  Oh !  Just  Woolly,"  they 
heard  her  say ;  "  how  very  woolly  you  are !  " 

Almost  unconsciously  the  lady  motioned  John  to  a 
chair  and  sat  down  herself.  She  did  not  try  to  talk, 
but  clasped  her  hands  tightly  in  her  lap  and  fixed  her 
eyes  on  them.  John  could  see  that  she  was  striving 
hard  to  get  herself  back  to  the  point  where  she  could 
chatter  of  little  things.  The  instinct  that  had  let  him 


44  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

see  what  he  had  seen  led  him  to  save  her  from  talking 
now.  He  began  of  himself  to  tell  her  about  Janice, 
how  he  had  found  her  and  taken  her,  the  quaint  things 
she  had  said,  the  wonders  of  housewifery  she  had  per- 
formed on  board  the  boat. 

Soon  the  lady  turned  her  thoughts  from  herself  and 
from  the  child  that  was  only  a  memory,  the  whole  of 
memory,  and  Janice  became  flesh  and  blood  in  her  own 
right,  the  right  that  each  one  of  us  has  to  our  own 
tragedy,  however  little,  and  to  our  share  of  the  pity  of 
great  hearts. 

At  last  she  looked  at  John  and  really  saw  him  for 
the  first  time.  "  And,  in  the  end,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  her  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  very  low,  but  it  was  not  because  he 
had  not  heard  that  John  was  so  long  in  answering. 
"I  don't — "  he  began.  "I  had  thought — "  he  be- 
gan again.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes'  from  her,  clasped 
his  hands  over  his  crossed  knees  and  said,  "  When  I 
took  her,  of  course  I  thought  of  that.  I  thought  that 
somewhere  I  must  find  a  home,  a  much  better  home, 
that  wanted  her." 

When  two  people  think  of  a  solution  to  a  problem 
at  the  same  time,  if  the  problem  is  vital  and  the  de- 
cision momentous  in  its  peculiar  way  to  each  of  them, 
they  seldom  talk  about  it.  It  was  so  now.  The  lady 
flashed  a  look  at  John  and  then  her  eyes  grew  slowly 
dreamy.  He  read  her  thoughts  but  turned  from  them 
to  his  own  and  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair,  looking 
for  Janice  as  though  she  had  been  too  long  out  of  his 
sight. 


„  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  45 

A  maid  came  into  the  room  and  laid  Janice's  little 
smock,  dry-cleaned  and  freshly  ironed,  on  the  back  of 
a  chair.  John  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  think  we 
should  be  going,"  he  said,  and  went  out  to  look  for 
Janice. 

When  he  brought  her  in,  her  eyes  fell  on  the  smock. 
With  her  face  very  grave  she  backed  up  to  the  lady, 
to  have  the  borrowed  dress  unbuttoned.  Then  she 
slipped  it  off  herself  and  stood  revealed  in  a  straight 
little  underwaist  with  big  flat  buttons  holding  up  undies 
that  puffed  out  just  a  little  at  her  hips  and  drew  in  to 
a  narrow  band  of  openwork  and  baby  lace  at  her  knees. 
She  was  more  than  charming,  she  was  adorable,  and  the 
pale  brown  of  her  fresh  bare  limbs  cried  aloud  for  kisses. 

Very  carefully  she  folded  the  borrowed  dress,  laid 
it  on  a  chair,  patted  it  smooth;  then  she  turned  from 
it  with  the  self-same  sigh  as  that  with  which  many 
an  older  woman  has  turned  from  gazing  on  sapphires 
and  rubies,  and  put  on  the  smock. 

As  he  had  done  once  before  that  day  John  stepped 
quickly  to  her,  picked  her  up  and  held  her  close,  her 
cheek  pressed  against  his.  He  dared  not  meet  the 
lady's  eyes  when  he  said  thank  you  and  good-by.  As 
he  hurried  toward  the  gate,  still  carrying  Janice,  he 
could  feel  her  craning  her  neck  to  look  back  over  her 
shoulder  and  heard  her  say,  "  He  is  so  very  woolly." 

John  could  not  sleep  that  night.  He  paced  the  deck 
for  hours,  sat  for  hours  in  Captain  Ike's  Bombay 
chair,  and  then  paced  the  deck  again.  The  next  after- 
noon, the  afternoon  of  the  Alexandrine's  last  day  in 
port,  without  a  word  to  captain  or  crew,  he  took  Janice 


46  JOHN   BOGAKDIJS 

back  to  the  friendly  house  and  the  friendly  dog,  and 
left  her  to  dry  the  tears  of  a  woman  only  too  eager  to 
clutch  at  the  memory  of  happiness. 

He  had  not  been  silent  as  they  slowly  climbed  the 
long  hill,  hand  in  hand,  but  he  had  spoken  more  of 
the  woolly  dog  than  of  the  lady,  and  his  words  had 
been  cheerful  and  brave  as  cheerful  words  are  when 
they  come  from  a  heavy  heart.  But  when  it  came  to 
saying  just  the  three  words  he  had  saved  for  the  last, 
"  Good-by,  little  Mother,"  he  could  not.  He  stooped 
instead  and  pressed  his  trembling  lips  against  her  soft 
mouth.  She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  patted 
his  head. 

As  he  hurried  from  the  house  he  heard  her  say  pa- 
tiently, almost  wearily,  "  I  know.  You  are  to  be  my 
new,  new  Mama." 

It  was  late  at  night  when  John  clambered  aboard 
the  Alexandrine  and  went  to  his  cabin,  to  stay  there 
through  all  the  early  morning  noises  of  departure. 
When  at  last  he  came  on  deck  the  Bluff  was  a  mere 
hump  on  the  horizon.  The  captain  had  set  the  course 
for  the  southern  trades  and  the  ship  was  standing  out 
for  the  long,  long  run  to  Melbourne. 

It  was  a  breezy  blue  morning  over  white  water,  and 
Captain  Ike  as  well  as  the  men  were  alive  and  happy 
and  looked  it. 

"  Hello,  son !  "  shouted  the  captain.  "  What 's  got 
inter  you  an'  Mother  this  mornin'  ?  " 

John  drew  him  aside.  He  had  a  long  explanation 
ready,  but  all  he  said  was,  "  I  Ve  done  it.  I  found  a 
home  for  her." 


y  JOHN    BOGARDUS  4Y 

"  Done  what  ? "  demanded  Captain  Ike,  the  color 
rising  in  his  cheeks.  His  loud  tone  and  the  way  he 
glanced  around  drew  the  mate  and  a  couple  of  the  deck 
watch. 

John  set  his  teeth  and  faced  them.  "  I  've  left 
Mother  behind." 

They  stared  at  him  wide-eyed  and  speechless.  Cap- 
tain Ike  was  angry,  and  when  he  was  angry  he  followed 
an  invariable  rule,  invariable  ever  since  he  had  knocked 
a  man  down  years  ago  and  spent  three  terrible  days 
bringing  him  back  to  consciousness.  He  went  to  his 
cabin  and  locked  himself  in. 

The  news  spread  rapidly  over  the  ship  and  the  men, 
some  of  them  half  dressed,  gathered  in  knots.  The 
bo's'n,  brushing  etiquette  aside,  clumped  down  the 
after  gangway  and  coming  back  a  moment  later  re- 
ported, "  All  her  kit 's  there,  left  behind  like  she  was 
a  runaway  an'  a  pauper.  The  bottle 's  there,  too ;  the 
one  with  the  full-rigged  ship  in  it  as  I  made." 

The  men  moved  gradually  away  from  where  John 
was  standing,  even  the  mate  turned  his  back  on  him 
and,  discovering  that  the  ship  had  fallen  off  half  a 
point,  cursed  the  man  at  the  wheel  in  full  rolling  oaths 
that  seemed  to  echo  and  bump  along  the  decks  which 
through  many  weeks  had  been  strangers  to  profanity. 

There  is  no  more  bitter  fate  than  to  be  sent  to 
Coventry  by  the  entire  company  of  a  ship  at  sea.  John 
passed  a  terrible  day.  An  eternity  of  silence  oppressed 
him  and  man  and  Nature  seemed  in  league  to  crush 
him  utterly  with  the  sheer  weight  of  unbearable  loneli- 
ness. The  reaching  sails  and  the  bowsprit,  nodding, 


48  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

nodding  across  the  interminable  crested  waves,  repeated 
again  and  again,  long  hour  after  long  hour,  "  Alone, 
alone." 

He  turned  from  the  ship,  stood  against  the  after 
rail,  and  gazed  back  along  the  wake,  that  symbol  of  the 
past,  so  bright  and  clear  near  by,  so  quickly  faded  in 
the  distance  and  lost  in  the  endless  sea.  He  was 
standing  like  that  at  night  when  Captain  Ike  came  up 
to  him  and  laid  a  big  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  down  an'  have  your  supper,  son." 

John  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  captain,  "  let 's  have  it  out 
now.  I  don't  ask  you  why  you  done  it.  I  ask  you 
why  you  done  it  that  way?  Not  givin'  none  of  us  a 
chanst  to  say  good-by." 

"I  didn't  say  good-by  myself,"  said  John,  thickly. 
"  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  leave  her  and  run.  If  I  'd 
had  to  argue  one  word,  pack  her  things,  if  you  and  the 
men  had  all  come  forward  saying  good-by,  each  one 
giving  her  something  and  pulling  at  her  heart,  trying 
to  tie  a  last  string  to  it,  where  would  she  be  right  now  ? 
Here  with  a  lot  of  men,  each  one  so  full  of  himself 
that  he  'd  rather  see  a  little  girl  kiddie  playing  house 
in  the  sloppy  scuppers  of  a  ship  than  living  in  a  fine 
quiet  home  with  a  big-hearted  woman  and  —  and  a  big 
woolly  dog.  And  you  all  stand  around  and  tell  each 
other  how  you  loved  her  and  — " 

'll  That 's  all  right,  son,"  interrupted  the  captain 
quickly,  for  John's  voice  was  going  shaky.  "  That 's 
all  I  wanted  and  all  the  men  will  want  —  jest  to  see 
it  your  way.  An'  now,  I  do,  son,  I  do.  Only  it  was 


gi  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  49 

so  sudden,  like  a  squall  that  hits  you  when  you  're 
looking  the  other  way  and  takes  you  all  aback.  Now 
you  tell  me  the  kind  of  place  you  found  for  little 
Mother."  And  John  did. 

Captain  Ike  was  right  about  the  men.  He  had 
them  aft  in  odd  groups  and  put  them  straight  so  that 
in  the  end,  far  from  being  estranged,  John  found  him.' 
self  what  he  had  not  been  before,  and  what  he  nevei 
would  have  become  without  the  incident  —  part  and 
parcel  of  the  life  and  the  history  of  the  Alexandrine. 

During  the  long,  free  run  to  Melbourne  a  vital 
change  of  which  he  was  quite  unconscious  came  over 
him.  He  made  rough  purchases  from  the  slop-chest, 
took  his  turn  at  the  wheel  and  at  the  sheets,  picked  up 
knowledge  and  muscle  at  the  same  time  and  the  keen, 
calm  vision  of  men  that  stand  hour  after  hour  face  to 
face  with  unlimited  space.  The  taste  of  salt  was  ever 
on  his  lips,  salt  tanned  his  cheeks  and  sifted  into  his 
very  blood,  making  his  final  assignment  to  a  regular 
watch  a  thing  as  natural  and  suddenly  familiar  as  a 
newly  charted  rock. 

At  last  they  reached  the  port  of  Melbourne  and  the 
moment  they  were  free  from  the  restraining  influences 
of  discipline  and  the  ship,  Captain  Ike  gave  John  such 
a  slap  on  the  shoulder  as  two  months  before  would 
have  knocked  him  down.  "Bogardus,"  he  said,  using 
John's  surname  for  the  first  and  last  time,  and  pausing 
to  let  the  significance  of  the  appellation  sink  in, 
"  you  're  a  man  this  day." 


CHAPTEK  VI 

EVEN  the  friendliness  of  Durban,  which  had 
seemed  overwarm,  paled  before  the  flame  of  Mel- 
bourne's too  generous  hospitality.  In  the  six  weeks  of 
the  Alexandrine's  delay  John  had  not  time  to  gain 
a  perspective,  and  unstayed  by  Janice's  presence  he 
knocked  about  like  a  craft  that  has  cast  its  moorings 
in  a  crowded  harbor  and  goes  rollicking  to  the  damage 
and  disfigurement  of  at  least  its  paint. 

Quickly  satiated  with  too  much  rubbing  of  elbows  he 
welcomed  sailing-day  with  unmixed  joy.  His  mem- 
ories of  Melbourne  were  feverish  to  the  verge  of  un- 
pleasantness. He  was  not  conscious  of  having  been 
defiled  so  much  as  he  was  depressed  by  the  feeling  that 
he  had  been  living  on  the  dead  level  of  the  flesh,  mov- 
ing amidst  a  community,  outwardly  light-hearted,  made 
up  of  husbands  as  unconscious  philanthropists  and 
wives  as  exponents  of  a  new  rendering  of  the  old  rule, 
"  live  and  let  live." 

It  was  good  to  forget  the  taste  of  saccharine  things 
in  the  tang  of  the  salt  sea,  good  to  look  out  upon  un- 
broken and  unblotted  heavens  and  plow  forward  into 
the  great  ocean  that  beyond  any  other  material  element 
wipes  out  the  past  for  man  and  gives  him  the  sense 
and  the  courage  of  a  fresh-washed  soul.  During  the 
long  voyage,  three  months  with  luck,  Melbourne  to 

50 


v  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  51 

Baltimore  without  a  stop,  he  learned  many  things  — 
that  distance  is  the  absence  of  speed,  patience  the  mur- 
der of  desire,  and  that  modest  penny-ante  with  a  dollar- 
bet  limit  has  powers  to  break  the  monumental  monotony 
of  a  thousand-mile  slant  of  wind. 

The  long,  reaching  billows  of  the  Indian  Ocean  were 
child's  play  in  comparison  with  the  battling  waves  of 
the  North  Atlantic  through  which  the  Alexandrine 
fought  on  her  last  leg  to  her  home  port  and  it  was  with 
a  great  deal  of  pride  and  no  mental  reservation  that 
Captain  Ike  wrote  out  John's  discharge  as  an  able 
seaman.  "  There  you  are,  son,"  he  said ;  "  it 's  the 
humblest  degree  there  is,  but  you  can't  buy  it  ner  hold 
it  with  money.  Don't  you  never  be  ashamed  of  it." 

With  more  than  half  his  traveling  fund  still  unex- 
pended but  with  over  two  years  of  absence  to  his  credit 
John  appeared  before  his  father.  James  Bogardus  did 
not  attempt  to  hide  his  astonishment  at  his  son's  devel- 
opment. He  had  given  Godspeed  to  a  boy  exceed- 
ingly old  for  his  years;  he  welcomed  back  a  man,  a 
young  man  whose  carriage  without  being  quite  soldierly 
still  suggested  combat  and  the  trained  muscles  of  an 
athlete. 

"  Travel,"  said  the  elder  Bogardus,  "  wonderful 
thing."  His  keen  glance  settled  on  his  son  and  fol- 
lowed him  around  while  his  mind  gloated  on  the  talks 
they  would  have  of  distant  countries  and  the  sights  he 
would  see  through  his  son's  eyes.  But  if  John  had  been 
an  enigma  before  he  started  on  his  grand  tour,  he  was 
now  a  full-grown  mystery.  In  three  long  sentences  he 
disposed  of  his  entire  two  years'  absence.  The  first 


52  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

covered  Leipzig  and  his  degree;  another,  Captain  Ike 
and  the  Alexandrine;  and  the  third  sketched  into  the 
picture  Plymouth,  Durban,  and  Melbourne,  the  only 
considerable  stops  in  the  whole  pilgrimage. 

James  Bogardus  was  dazed,  his  theory  of  travel  de- 
molished. He  had  had  a  low  opinion  of  Captain  Ike, 
not  low  enough  to  lead  him  to  interfere  in  any  way  with 
the  friendship  John  had  struck  up  with  him,  but  suffi- 
ciently marked  to  make  him  wonder  what  intercourse 
there  could  be  between  his  son's  highly  developed  mind 
and  the  rough  and  ready  mentality  of  the  captain. 
Eighteen  months  on  a  sailing  vessel  and  a  mere  glimpse 
of  three  of  the  most  provincial  ports  in  the  world 
seemed  to  the  professor  a  most  inadequate  explanation 
of  his  son's  development. 

He  gave  up  the  puzzle  and  fell  back  on  the  consola- 
tion that  from  whatever  cause  the  development  had 
come,  it  was  a  solid  reality  upon  which  one  could  build. 
Within  a  month  the  arrangements  of  years  were  brought 
to  a  triumphant  termination  and  John  was  duly  in- 
stalled as  assistant  professor  in  Romance  languages  on 
the  understanding  that  his  father  would  resign  the  full 
professorship  in  his  son's  favor  as  soon  as  the  university 
authorities  judged  the  younger  Bogardus  competent  and 
old  enough  to  assume  the  larger  responsibility. 

James  Bogardus  would  have  felt  dismay  rather  than 
consolation  could  he  have  conceived  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  John's  chaotic  mind  at  this  juncture.  The  boy  had 
at  no  time  felt  a  call  to  be  a  teacher  of  Romance  lan- 
guages or  of  anything  else.  He  had  grown  into  the 
idea  just  as  one  grows,  unthinking,  into  the  bonds  of 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  53 

an  inherited  religion.  To  some  natures  such  an  im- 
prisonment is  a  boon;  to  others,  those  who  have  sight 
and  are  weak,  it  means  galling  wounds,  but  to  the 
world's  fighters,  it  is  but  a  call  to  arms  and  to  revolt. 
Though  John  did  not  yet  know  it,  he  was  a  fighter  born. 
The  youth  that  was  banished  from  his  outward  person 
still  reigned  in  his  heart  and  dazed  him.  He  assumed 
the  assistant  professorship  with  apparent  content  but  his 
inner  spirit  took  it  as  a  young  horse  first  takes  the  bit. 

James  Bogardus  occupied  one  of  those  houses  in  light 
brick  and  Colonial  trimmings  that  look  prim  and  fresh 
at  the  same  time,  their  precise  formality  softened  by  a 
line  of  white  here  and  there,  by  lush  lawns  in  summer 
time  and  by  the  gray  lace  of  bare  trees  in  winter. 
Such  a  house  in  town  almost  always  sports  gay  window- 
boxes,  but  in  the  country  shows  its  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things  by  facing  a  tumult  of  color  with  an  even  and 
restraining  severity. 

Inside,  it  was  built  for  comfort  and  took  every  ad- 
vantage of  modern  science  in  sanitation,  lighting,  and 
ventilation,  at  the  same  time  lending  itself  easily  to  the 
sensible  modifications  which  James  Bogardus  had  in- 
stituted in  anticipation  of  his  son's  return.  On  the 
ground  floor  there  was  a  spacious  hall,  a  large,  deep- 
toned  library,  a  sunny  dining-room  and  a  drawing- 
room,  converted  into  a  bedroom,  to  which  had  been 
added  a  bathroom.  This,  except  for  the  hall  and  din- 
ing-room, was  the  elder  Bogardus's  domain,  leaving  to 
his  son  the  entire  second  floor  with  the  exception  of  the 
servants'  rooms  at  the  back,  which  were  separate  and 
served  by  their  own  stairway. 


54 

The  house  was  quite  strange  to  John  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  his  father  had  occupied  it  for  many  years, 
and  struck  him  as  being  somewhat  new,  inside  and  out ; 
not  repulsively  new,  but  new  with  the  newness  of  a 
suit  of  clothes  made  by  an  excellent  tailor.  None  the 
less,  he  was  pleased  with  it ;  pleased  above  all  with  the 
thoughtfulness  his  father  had  shown  in  providing  for 
their  mutual  privacy. 

John  did  not  enter  upon  his  new  duties  without 
many  qualms,  first  and  foremost  of  which  was  the  fear 
that  he  would  have  to  teach  Komance  languages  by  day 
and  talk  them  eternally  by  night.  Consequently  he  was 
overjoyed  to  find  that  the  professorial  etiquette  of  the 
university  forbade  talking  shop  out  of  school  hours  and 
that  the  elder  Bogardus  stuck  to  the  rule  with  a  wisdom 
born  of  much  experience. 

This  one  relief  alone  made  John  almost  happy  but 
it  came  too  suddenly;  it  broke  the  slender  link  in  the 
relations  of  father  and  son  before  any  mutual  interest 
had  had  time  to  form  into  a  substitute  and  left  the  two 
quite  friendly  but  inexplicably  distant.  Neither  of 
them  knew  why  they  were  distant  one  from  the  other, 
but  they  realized  day  by  day  that  they  were,  and  after 
a  first  bewilderment  gradually  sank  each  into  his  own 
sedentary  rut. 

The  professor's  eyes  would  occasionally  follow  his 
son  wistfully  as  John  strode  down  the  steps  and  away 
toward  the  campus,  his  brow  would  pucker  in  a  puz- 
zled frown,  but  finally  his  face  would  light  up,  rather 
deliberately,  into  a  look  of  pride.  He  might  be  lonely 
but  he  had  the  consolation  of  pride  in  his  boy,  the 


„  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  55 

wonder  product  of  his  loins  and  his  thoughtful  pre- 
vision. 

To  John,  amazingly  restricted  in  his  contacts  with 
American  life,  those  first  few  weeks  of  teaching  were 
mentally  crowded  with  impressions,  deductions,  and  re- 
adjustments. Without  ever  having  heen  side  by  side 
with  American  youth  he  was  suddenly  brought  face  to 
face  with  it  in  the  worst  possible  conditions  for  a  fair 
understanding  of  the  boyish,  clean-shaven  multitude. 
He  ran  into  a  series  of  surprises.  The  first  was  the 
discovery  of  the  unbounded  extent  of  ignorance  hidden 
behind  the  bright  faces,  the  next  the  appreciation  of 
an  equal  extent  of  indifference,  and  the  third  a  dis- 
covery of  his  own  sudden  popularity. 

The  last  item  would  have  proved  less  of  a  mystery 
could  he  have  overheard  the  following  conversation: 

"  Say,  get  your  folks  to  write  for  a  transfer  to  some- 
thing in  the  Dago  line,  French,  Spanish,  or  Italian. 
Kid  Bogardus  is  a  holy  cinch.  It 's  a  shame  to  take  the 
money.  Just  sits  there  and  gases  and  never  bats  an 
eye  when  you  recite,  only  looks  dazed.  He 's  never 
picked  up  his  mark  card,  let  alone  used  it." 

John  had  the  European  idea  of  a  university ;  it  never 
entered  his  head  that  he  was  being  paid  to  be  a  task- 
master and  he  did  not  suspect  that  the  presence  of 
any  of  his  pupils  was  due  to  anything  but  a  desire  to 
learn.  He  was  not  so  much  dismayed  by  the  ignorance 
he  encountered  as  he  was  filled  with  pity  for  the  youths 
who  faced  so  cheerfully  so  great  a  handicap.  During 
many  a  painful  recitation  he  devoted  himself  to  a  de- 
tached and  philosophic  study  of  the  humanity  at  hand, 


56  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

pinning  his  faith  to  the  didactic  theory  that  in  the 
course  of  time  the  discordant  mumblings  of  his  pupils 
would  develop  like  a  hudding  flower  into  intelligible 
phrases. 

More  than  once  he  shamelessly  day-dreamed.  To 
such  moments  came  the  creak  of  rigging,  the  slosh  and 
taste  of  salt  water,  the  swaying  surge  of  the  Alex- 
andrine, deified  in  memory  into  a  live  goddess,  a  Diana 
of  the  waves,  wandering  in  search  of  vast  distances  and 
worlds,  and  conquering  them.  Or  he  would  suddenly 
wake  to  the  soft  voice  of  Janice  crying,  "  Oh !  Just 
Woolly !  you  are  so  very  woolly !  " 

His  classes  in  French  were  naturally  the  largest  and 
the  most  mixed,  made  up  of  youths  who  thought  or 
whose  parents  thought  it  was  the  thing  to  know  French, 
of  others  who  had  a  bent  for  literature  and  wanted  to 
read  French,  and  of  still  others  who  used  the  course  as 
a  convenient  padding  to  a  tenuous  curriculum. 

His  classes  in  Spanish  were  also  well  attended,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  Spanish  war  and  the  prospective 
permanent  occupation  of  the  Philippines  and  closer 
relations  with  Cuba  had  given  a  boom  to  that  long- 
neglected  language,  but  here  the  personnel  was  well- 
defined  and  made  up  for  the  most  part  of  shrewd- 
minded  youngsters  who  foresaw,  or  whose  parents  fore- 
saw, the  coming  money-value  of  a  knowledge  of  Span- 
ish in  the  Western  Hemisphere.  These  were  the  most 
intelligent  if  not  the  most  diligent  of  John's  pupils, 
but  like  his  French  students,  their  indolence  was  more 
potent  than  their  need.  They  believed  in  erudition 
by  absorption. 


57 

X 

The  most  diligent  but  by  no  means  the  most  beloved, 
was  the  small  group  that  elected  to  be  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  Italian.  It  was  made  up  of  the  genus 
locally  called  "  poler  "  and  classified  in  a  wider  world 
under  the  appellation  of  "  highbrow."  John  looked 
over  the  small  assembly  and  comforted  himself  with 
the  thought  that  he  would  rather  teach  them  Italian 
than  undertake  to  make  a  passable  deckhand  out  of 
the  best  of  the  lot.  Together  they  struggled  through 
the  sonorous  Divina  Commedia  which  became  hence- 
forth to  John  a  monstrous  comedy,  robbed  of  divinity 
for  all  time. 


CHAPTEK  VII 

WEEKS  passed,  months  passed.  The  Bogard- 
uses,  father  and  son,  plodded  along  like  a  well- 
trained  team  of  horses,  each  in  his  rut.  Their  joint 
life  began  to  look  like  a  long,  even  cart-track  with  an 
indefinite  promise  of  convergence  hovering  always  over 
a  distant  horizon.  James  Bogardus  had  a  number  of 
friends,  John  had  made  a  few,  and  even  these  out- 
siders seemed  to  play  a  game  of  Follow  the  Leader,  the 
former  turning  invariably  into  the  library  and  the  lat- 
ter passing  directly  upstairs  to  John's  private  quarters. 

Against  this  condition  both  father  and  son  inwardly 
rebelled.  Each  was  possessed  of  an  active  personality, 
of  the  magnetism  that  subconsciously  creates  an  atmos- 
phere of  friendship  wherever  it  goes  and  leaves  its  owner 
bewildered  on  those  rare  occasions  when  it  fails  to  work 
automatically.  But  almost  as  a  consequence  of  the 
strength  of  their  characters  they  were  impotent  to  re- 
solve their  dilemma.  Neither  could  bend  toward  the 
other  except  by  a  conscious  effort,  an  effort  whose  mere 
inception  would  imply  an  unwarranted  surrender  of 
independence. 

James  Bogardus  could  analyze  almost  anything  in 
others  from  a  trifling  individual  motive  to  a  national 
emotion,  but  he  could  not  analyze  himself  nor  this  mys- 
terious son,  so  intimately  of  his  fiber  and  of  his  life, 

58 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  59 

JJr 

and  yet  so  far  removed.  John  did  not  trouble  with 
analysis.  His  internal  youth,  never  divined  by  his 
father  behind  the  immutable  calm  of  his  exterior, 
sensed  a  division  of  spirit  and  accepted  it.  His  father 
was  a  stranger ;  he  had  always  been  a  stranger. 

There  are  certain  nervous  affections  which  strike 
invariably  at  persons  of  grim  character  combined  with 
superactive  imagination,  holding  them  bedridden  for 
years  only  to  be  released  suddenly  by  some  violent 
exterior  shock.  Of  such  invalids  it  is  commonly  said, 
"  There  is  nothing  really  the  matter  with  him."  So 
it  might  be  said  of  the  Bogarduses  —  there  was  nothing 
really  the  matter  with  them;  but  they  were  powerless, 
nevertheless,  held  in  a  thrall  that  awaited  the  adventi- 
tious mercy  of  an  exterior  shock.  The  shock  was  on 
the  way. 

On  two  evenings,  widely  separated,  John  had  heard 
the  entry  of  several  persons  to  the  library  from  whence 
muffled,  indistinguishable  sounds  continued  to  reach 
him  until  sleep  and  the  small  hours  of  the  morning 
had  come  to  blot  them  out.  John  had  thought  little 
and  said  nothing  of  the  matter,  though  he  had  been  con- 
scious of  an  added  pin-prick  of  loneliness  on  each  occa- 
sion. 

To  be  alone  is  nothing;  to  feel  alone  is  humanity's 
maximum  terror  and  the  sole  source  of  a  universal  fear 
of  death.  The  only  misery  of  childhood  that  continues 
unabated  through  all  the  years  of  life  is  the  sinking 
feeling  that  comes  to  him  who  thinks  himself  "  left  out." 
This  feeling  came  to  John  on  the  third  evening  of  con- 
tinued muffled  sounds  from  the  library.  The  double 


60 

yet  divided  life  that  he  and  his  father  were  living  sud- 
denly seemed  monstrous  to  him.  He  paced  up  and 
down  his  room,  finally  went  to  the  top  of  the  stairs 
and  with  scarcely  a  pause  descended  to  the  library  door. 
This  was  not  surrender;  it  was  rebellion,  attack.  He 
grasped  the  door  knob  firmly  and  turned  it.  The  door 
was  locked. 

A  hot  flush  flamed  in  his  cheeks  as  he  rushed  up 
the  stairs  and  quickly  locked  himself  into  his  own 
rooms.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  shame.  Had  they 
heard  him?  Was  it  altogether  imagination  that  told 
him  there  had  been  a  sudden  hush  in  the  library? 
Then  came  revulsion  to  still  deeper  shame.  His  father 
had  locked  him  out;  not  figuratively,  but  actually,  de- 
liberately. He  looked  at  his  own  door  and  remembered 
that  it  too  was  locked,  locked  for  the  first  time.  Well, 
after  all,  wasn't  this  the  logical  end  of  any  estrange- 
ment? During  his  momentary  embarrassment  he  had 
lost  every  vestige  of  poise  and  become  palpitatingly 
young ;  now  he  was  suddenly  old  again,  older  than  ever. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday  and  John  lingered  in 
bed  until  he  heard  his  father  leave  the  house ;  then  he 
rose,  dressed  quickly  and  went  for  a  long  walk,  lunched 
at  an  inn  and  whiled  away  the  whole  afternoon  on  the 
deserted  towpath  of  the  somnolent  canal.  He  dreaded 
coming  back  to  dinner,  but  dinner  was  a  meal  one  could 
not  skip  without  the  formality  of  a  previous  announce- 
ment. He  reached  his  rooms  without  encountering  any 
one,  bathed,  dressed,  and  came  down  at  the  first  faint 
stroke  of  the  gong. 

He  found  his  father  waiting  for  him  in  the  dining- 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  61 

room  and  perceived  at  a  glance  that  last  night's  turn- 
ing of  the  library  door  knob  had  by  no  means  passed 
unremarked,  for  James  Bogardus  was  very  nervous  and 
his  tones  did  not  ring  quite  true  to  cordiality  when  he 
said,  "  Ah,  here  you  are  at  last." 

"  I  suppose  you  forgot  the  president's  reception,"  he 
added  more  naturally  as  he  saw  that  his  best  frock  coat 
and  gray  striped  trousers  had  attracted  and  held  John's 
attention. 

John  nodded.     "  Forgot  all  about  it,"  he  murmured. 

They  sat  down  to  a  silent  dinner,  each  making  a 
pretense  of  eating  to  give  the  other  time  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  normal  appetite;  but  normal  appetite  has 
a  way  of  fleeing  before  emotion  and  both  were  glad 
when  the  farce  of  a  meal  was  over  and  the  elder 
Bogardus  said,  "  Let  us  go  to  the  library,"  in  the  tone 
of  an  officer  saying,  "  Fix  bayonets !  " 

Once  in  the  library,  Bogardus  pere  motioned  his  son 
to  a  deep  leathern  chair  and  took  his  own  position  with 
his  back  to  the  fireplace,  empty  of  coals  for  spring  was 
already  upon  them.  John  felt  that  he  had  been  put 
at  a  disadvantage  the  moment  he  sounded  the  surpris- 
ing depths  of  the  chair  into  which  he  had  been  in- 
veigled and  started  to  rise  but  sank  back  again  in  defer- 
ence to  a  gesture  from  his  father.  It  struck  him  for 
the  first  time  in  many  days  that  his  father  occasionally 
possessed  a  most  pleasing  presence. 

With  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back  under  his 
coat-tails  so  that  the  frock  coat,  buttoned  down  the 
front,  was  drawn  sharply  up  from  his  slim  hips,  his 
bright  eyes  and  dark  brows  shining  out  against  the  soft 


62  JOHN    BOGAEDTTS 

gray  of  his  hair  and  pointed  beard,  the  elder  Bogardus 
deliberately  teetered  heel  to  toe  and  coughed  like  a 
boy  about  to  make  a  speech.  John  suddenly  felt  a 
premonition  that  he  was  about  to  discover  that  his  fa- 
ther was  human  and  slowly  relaxed  into  the  hospitable 
chair. 

"  A-hem,"  said  Bogardus  Senior.  "  A-hem.  I  wish 
to  assure  you  that  it  has  never  been  my  intention,  much 
less  my  desire,  to  have  any  secrets  from  you  and  that 
I  am  rejoiced  at  the  chance  for  an  explanation  pro- 
vided by  last  night's  —  er  —  incident." 

"  I  'm  the  one  that  ought  to  explain,  I  think,"  said 
John,  on  an  impulse  of  generosity. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  James  Bogardus.  "  I  should  have 
told  you  about  the  Five  Club  long  ago.  I  meant  to 
tell  you  when  you  first  arrived  but  the  chance  did  n't 
come ;  it  never  seemed  to  come.  Er  —  I  wish  you 
would  ask  me  some  questions." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  ask  you  questions,"  protested 
John.  "  I  'm  ashamed  of  myself.  You  have  a  meet- 
ing of  your  club  and  I  come  like  a  busybody  trying  the 
door.  It  was  inexcusable  and  — " 

"I  said  I  wished  you  would  ask  some  questions," 
interrupted  the  professor.  "I  still  wish  it." 

John's  lips  broke  into  a  quizzical  smile.  His  father 
had  become  younger,  nearer,  something  that  a  son  could 
humor.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  what 's  your  club  for  ?  " 

"  Poker,"  said  James  Bogardus. 

"  Poker !  "  repeated  John  in  a  weak  gasp  as  though 
he  had  been  butted  below  the  belt. 

"  Poker,"  repeated  his  father,  calmly,  still  teetering 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  63 

from  heel  to  toe,  his  bright  eyes  fixed  gravely  on  his 
son's  face. 

John  let  his  head  fall  back  and  laughed  as  he  had 
seldom  laughed  before,  but  the  elder  Bogardus's  face 
remained  immobile,  almost  unconcerned  until  John 
drew  out  a  handkerchief  and  started  mopping  his 
eyes. 

Then  his  father  asked  drily,  "  Were  you  laughing 
at  me  or  at  Poker  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  John.  "  Neither.  I  was  laughing 
at  myself.  I  've  been  such  a  fool.  I  had  a  premoni- 
tion that  I  was  about  to  discover  you  were  human  but 
it  was  such  a  small  premonition  — " 

His  father  smiled  a  slow  smile.  "  I  would  n't  have 
minded  your  laughing  at  me,"  he  said.  "  One  should 
never  defend  one's  person  except  when  a  principle  is 
involved." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  infer  that  you  consider  Poker 
a  principle  ?  "  asked  John,  his  face  alight  with  pleasure 
at  the  discovery  that  his  father  could  talk  something 
besides  Romance  languages. 

"  It 's  a  principle  with  me,"  said  James  Bogardus^ 
"  and  I  '11  tell  you  why.  The  American,  of  late  years, 
has  been  losing  his  individuality  at  an  astounding  rate. 
We  built  our  greatness  on  the  rock  of  religious  toler- 
ance and  have  since  descended  to  the  mud-pie  level  of 
legislated  morals.  A  majority  told  us  what  we  must 
believe  and  we  deemed  it  monstrous  and  founded  a 
New  World;  now  the  same  majority  chucks  us  the 
dead-letter  sop  of  religious  tolerance  and  we  let  it  gorge 
itself  on  intolerance  in  everything  else."  He  suddenly 


64 

stopped  teetering.     "  By  the  way,  this  is  a  mighty  big 
subject.     Have  you  any  engagement?" 

"  I  can't  imagine  an  engagement,"  said  John,  "  that 
I  would  n't  break  to  hear  you  make  Puritan  and  Poker, 
the  calf  and  the  young  lion,  lie  down  at  peace  together." 

"  Good,"  said  his  father.  "  We  were  speaking  of 
intolerance.  During  the  last  few  years  this  country 
has  been  trying  to  glue  a  triplet  to  the  Decalogue. 
There  are  States  where  it 's  against  the  law  to  sell  a 
cigarette,  more  States  where  it 's  against  the  law  to 
sell  a  drink,  and  a  vast  expanse  of  territory  where  every 
time  you  say  Poker !  above  a  cowardly  whisper,  people 
jump  as  though  you  had  rattled  the  latch  on  the  trap- 
door to  perdition." 

He  drew  one  nervous  hand  from  behind  his  back  and 
pointed  the  index  finger  at  John.  "  Now  don't  be  an 
old  woman  and  misunderstand  me.  I  'm  not  defending 
the  opium-tainted  cigarette,  the  grog  shop,  or  the  gam- 
bling hell.  I  merely  say  if  you  educate  a  man,  breed 
him,  those  things  become  harmless,  but  if  you  bring 
him  up  under  glass,  untempted,  you  are  bound  to  pro- 
duce a  bovine  ideal  —  soft,  sleek  flesh,  obedient  to  the 
prod,  a  sort  of  flat-minded,  standardized  national  porker 
that  would  cut  his  throat  with  his  own  fore  feet  if  he 
ever  fell  into  anything  deeper  than  a  puddle  and  had 
to  swim." 

John  laughed  aloud.  He  was  still  laughing  at  him- 
self, joyfully  calling  himself  a  fool  for  having  lived 
long,  silent  solemn  months  beside  a  conversational  gold 
mine. 

James  Bogardus  paid  no  attention  to  the  interrup- 


tf  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  65 

tion.  "  We  have  forgotten  the  very  essence  of  the  word 
liberty.  Liberty  means  nothing  if  it  doesn't  carry 
with  it  the  ennobling  freedom  of  a  choice.  We  talk 
about  a  minority  fighting  the  majority  as  though  that 
were  the  whole  battle.  But  it  isn't.  The  big  battle 
that  has  always  been  and  that,  please  God,  always  will 
be,  is  the  fight  for  life  of  the  individual  against  the 
herd.  It 's  the  old  fight  for  a  right  to  a  choice.  Let 
me  put  the  thing  crudely:  Every  man  should  be  as 
free  to  take  a  drink  as  he  is  to  commit  murder." 

"But — "  stammered  John. 

"But!  But!"  exclaimed  his  father.  "You're 
stubbing  your  toe  against  a  mere  breath  of  logic.  The 
absolutist  that  wants  to  remove  all  drink  from  his  coun- 
try to  prevent  the  vulgar  from  getting  drunk  should  not 
hesitate  to  put  every  individual  in  solitary  confinement 
to  prevent  the  horror  of  murder." 

"  And  now  do  we  come  to  Poker  ?  "  asked  John. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  his  father,  "but  not  until  Ellen 
has  brought  us  some  sandwiches.  Talking  seems  to 
make  me  ravenous." 

"  It  can't  be  talking,"  said  John,  smiling.  "  I  'm 
starving  too." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  they  had  eaten  a  surprising  number  of 
sandwiches,  washed  down  by  a  modest  glass 
each  of  the  professor's  best  Madeira,  he  settled  back  in 
a  chair  that  was  own  brother  to  John's  and  resting  his 
elbows  on  its  arms  joined  the  tips  of  his  fingers  in  the 
most  approved  style  for  philosophic  exposition. 

"  Draw  Poker,"  he  began,  "  is  at  once  the  most  in- 
dividual of  all  sciences  and  the  epitome  of  American 
character.  I  say  science  advertently,  for  the  ingenuity 
of  man  has  invented  no  game  more  deliberately  based 
on  a  knowledge  of  mathematical  and  human  values  com- 
bined. The  man  that  calls  it  a  gamble  speaks  from  the 
depths  of  ignorance  and  adds  his  voice  to  the  persecu- 
tion that  has  lowered  the  maximum  test  of  intelligence 
to  the  level  of  the  stock  exchange  in  the  mind  of  an 
undiscriminating  public." 

John  chuckled  aloud,  but  the  professor,  unmoved, 
continued.  "  It  is  true  that  Poker  attains  flatulence 
only  on  a  diet  of  suckers  and  lambs  but  I  contend  that 
the  elimination,  or  rather,  the  evolution  of  what  is  com- 
monly termed  the  '  easy  mark/  is  of  distinct  benefit  to 
the  State  and  I  venture  to  affirm  that  if  the  mere  rudi- 
ments of  the  game  were  taught  in  our  primary  schools, 
New  York  would  have  a  shorter  bread-line  on  winter 
evenings.  I  don't  mean  by  that  that  the  unfortunates 

66 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  67 

would  rather  play  Poker  than  eat  but  that  they  would 
never  have  reached  the  bread-line  at  all." 

"  How  do  you  justify  it  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  By  this  assertion,"  replied  the  professor,  promptly. 
"  Poker  is  to  the  intellect  what  the  roughest  kind  of 
football  is  to  the  body.  You  will  find  the  man  who 
knows  Poker  silent  in  adversity,  calm  under  responsi- 
bility, quick  in  emergency,  and  slow  to  purchase  a  gold 
brick.  Such  an  equipment,  whatever  his  walk  of  life, 
is  n't  apt  to  lead  him  to  the  bread-line." 

John  nodded  and  his  smile  began  to  waver. 

"  Poker,"  continued  the  professor,  "  is  the  essence 
of  individuality.  Take  Bridge  as  a  contrast.  When  I 
see  a  crowd  sit  down  to  a  Bridge  drive  it  reminds  me 
of  a  quadrille  on  roller  skates.  No  matter  how  well 
you  can  skate,  you  're  helpless.  You  raise  your  eyes 
on  high  and  pray  for  a  partner  that  can  skate  too.  And 
that 's  the  way  with  Bridge.  Even  in  a  decent  club 
I  've  had  an  idiot  freeze  my  blood  with  the  casual  re- 
marks, l  Partner,  I  've  never  read  the  book.  Don't  play 
by  it.  Depend  altogether  on  card-sense.' ' 

The  professor  sat  forward.  "  He  does  n't  mean  by 
that  that  he  has  studied  the  conventions  so  that  he  can 
recognize  your  play  but  reserves  the  right  to  break  them 
himself.  No,  sir.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  he  means 
that  he  's  too  lazy  to  read  the  fundamental  axioms  of 
the  nicest  of  etiquettes  and  so  sap-headed  that  he  'd 
employ  a  bookkeeper  that  had  never  learned  arithmetic. 
He  doesn't  depend  on  card-sense  but  on  cards,  on  a 
string  of  honors  that  would  win  the  rubber  if  they 
were  served  up  indiscriminately  on  a  dumb-waiter. 


68  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

He  's  the  long  and  short  of  a  gambler ;  long  on  bull-luck, 
short  on  intellect." 

The  professor  nodded  his  head  sadly.  "  And  there  's 
only  one  revenge,  hard  of  access ;  and  that  is  to  get  him 
to  apply  his  principles  to  one  short  hour  of  quiet  Draw. 
But  that 's  by  the  way.  There  are  two  proofs,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  Poker  is  not  a  gamble  but  a  psychological 
science." 

"  Only  two  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  I  speak  of  elementals,"  said  the  professor ;  "  proofs 
that  anybody  can  understand.  One  is  that  the  greatest 
living  authority  on  the  game  is  a  Scotchman  and  the 
other  is  the  fact  that  the  sex  line  is  as  marked  in  Poker 
as  in  a  Quaker  prayer-meeting.  So  intimately  are  hu- 
man nature  and  logic  linked  in  the  game  that  it  is 
impossible  to  introduce  even  the  best  of  woman  players 
without  throwing  the  entire  delicate  scale  of  values  out 
of  order.  You  can  calculate  odds  but  you  can't  calcu- 
late woman.  Woman  is  a  gamble  and  she  has  no  place 
in  Poker." 

The  professor  stood  up,  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  jingled  his  keys;  then  he  walked  to  a  panel 
in  the  bookcase,  unlocked  it,  and  slid  back  the  door. 
On  one  shelf  were  packs  of  cards,  a  case  of  chips,  and 
a  bulky  manuscript  in  disorder;  on  another  a  meager 
line  of  books.  "  This,"  he  said,  running  his  nail  along 
the  books,  "  is  the  sadly  inadequate  bibliography  of 
Poker,  and  this  " —  laying  his  hand  on  the  manuscript 
— "  is  my  monograph  on  the  game,  which  is  to  be  pub- 
lished posthumously  out  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
the  local  faculty." 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  69 

"Do  you  know,  sir,"  said  John,  smiling  in  spite  of 
the  professor's  gravity,  "that  I've  gone  around  for 
three  years  under  the  impression  that  the  only  thing 
you  could  talk  was  Romance  languages  ?  " 

"  Romance  languages !  "  repeated  the  professor,  star- 
ing vaguely  at  his  son  as  though  he  had  introduced 
glaciers  into  a  discussion  on  calorics.  "  Ah,  yes.  You 
overestimated  me.  I  can't  talk  Romance  languages. 
But  Poker  —  Look  here."  He  drew  out  all  the  short 
line  of  books  and  spread  them  on  the  table.  "  These," 
he  said,  sorting  out  three,  "  are  the  every-day  modern 
authorities.  Very  valuable  in  that  they  serve  to  estab- 
lish usage  and  even  predict  natural  evolutionary  tenden- 
cies such  as  the  long-delayed  recognition  of  the  initial 
value  of  bob-tailed  flushes  and  straights." 

He  picked  up  a  thin  manuscript,  sheets  bound  in 
parchment  and  covered  with  minute  handwriting. 
"  But  this,"  he  continued,  "  has  a  value  quite  different, 
quite.  It  is  a  description  in  the  most  liquid  of  classical 
French  of  the  Jeu  de  Bluff,  in  other  words  Poker  with 
a  thirty-two  card  deck,  and  was  bought  by  me  person- 
ally at  the  sale  of  the  late  Comte  de  Villacque's  library. 
I  treasure  it  more  than  any  other  possession  and  pre- 
dict that  it  will  increase  in  value  at  the  rate  of  an 
authentic  Goya." 

He  tapped  a  brochure  done  in  brilliant  yellow  and 
smiled.  "  A  curiosity,"  he  said.  "  The  mad  ideas  of 
a  member  of  the  Rio  de  Janeiro  Club  dos  Diarios  on 
Poker  with  a  thirty-two  card  deck  and  a  right-bower, 
right-bower  being  a  Latin  euphemism  for  joker.  But 
interesting,  intensely  interesting  as  illustrative  of  the 


70 

tendency  of  all  foreigners  to  increase  the  element  of 
gamble  at  the  cost  of  science." 

He  waved  his  hand  at  the  rest  of  the  books.  "A 
hodge-podge  of  literature  on  Brag,  Straight  Poker, 
Whisky  Poker,  Stud;  in  short,  all  the  satellites  that 
twinkle  round  the  radiant  planet  of  Draw  Poker. 
Brag  and  Straight  Poker  are  obsolete,  Whisky  Poker, 
as  its  name  implies,  is  a  diversion  for  fuddled  brains, 
a  sort  of  Blind  Man's  Buff,  and  Stud  —  Well,  I  con- 
cede to  Stud  its  own  peculiar  sphere  as  a  heaven-sent 
relief  to  three  kindred  spirits  cut  off  from  the  rest  of 
mankind.  In  fact,  it  has  but  a  single  feature  that  bars 
it  from  being  a  worthy  consort  to  Draw  and  that  is  the 
frequency  with  which  one  finds  himself  in  possession 
of  a  certainty.  That  difficulty  can  be  overcome  by 
burying  the  last  as  well  as  the  first  card.  The  game 
then  becomes  an  ideal  pastime  for  cutthroats  and  mil- 
lionaires." 

He  picked  up  the  untidy  bulky  manuscript  and 
weighed  it  in  his  hand.  "  This,  as  I  told  you,"  he  said, 
"  is  my  monograph.  It  treats  of  the  satellites  I  've 
mentioned  in  the  manner  of  a  coup  de  grace,  bending 
all  its  constructive  energies  to  the  apotheosis  of  Draw 
Poker,  the  establishment  of  its  values,  and  the  standard- 
ization of  its  laws.  It  will  be  my  monument,  my  badge 
as  an  American  and  a  true  Son  of  the  Eevolution,  for 
I  have  written  it  not  only  as  a  defense  of  the  most 
maligned  of  games  but  as  a  protest  against  the  tyranny 
of  a  bigoted  majority. 

'  You  may  not  know  it  but  while  two  clubs  in  Amer- 
ica and  one  in  England  openly  governed  the  codes  of 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  71 

Whist  and  to-day  make  the  laws  of  Bridge,  there  is 
not  one  club  of  any  standing  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  world 
that  dares  back  with  its  authority  the  standardization 
of  Draw  Poker.  I  have  consequently  tried  to  make  my 
exposition  scholarly,  so  scholarly  that  I  trust  a  com- 
bination of  American  clubs  will  be  shamed  into  holding 
hands  and  publicly  establishing  the  laws  of  this  prince 
of  games  for,  wherever  it  immigrated  from,  it 's  as 
American  as  Yankee  nutmegs  or  the  Pilgrim  Fathers." 

John  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  Got  them  to- 
gether at  last,"  he  said. 

His  father  nodded  and  continued.  "  We  come  now 
to  the  ticklish  question  of  stakes.  It 's  a  question  hard 
to  explain  to  the  lay  mind  because  the  lay  mind  is  gen- 
erally too  lazy  for  intricacies.  Let 's  jog  it  in  the  ribs 
with  a  paradox.  Poker  is  the  only  mortal  three-sided 
equation  yet  discovered.  Theoretically,  it  is  made  up 
of  three  equal  parts,  any  one  of  which  may  be  equal 
to  the  other  two  at  any  given  moment.  These  parts 
are  the  money  on  the  table,  the  cards  you  hold,  and 
The  Man  That 's  Sitting  Over  You,  a  combination  that 
embraces  the  entire  masculine  branch  of  the  mental 
cosmos.  Each  of  the  three  is  vital,  as  vital  as  heart, 
lungs,  or  liver.  Have  you  ever  felt  suddenly  hollow 
when  somebody  said,  '  We  '11  play  for  love '  ?  " 

John  nodded  and  grinned. 

"  Be  glad  of  that  hollow  feeling,"  said  his  father. 
"  It  comes  from  the  instinct  that  tells  you  that  no  game 
on  earth  which  is  founded  on  the  laws  of  recurrence  and 
chance  is  ever  accurately  played  except  for  money. 
Money,  a  little  more  money  than  he  thinks  he  can 


72  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

afford,  is  the  only  counterweight  on  earth  that  will  hold 
man's  attention  hour  after  hour  and  at  the  same  time 
rub  his  intellect  to  a  razor  edge.  There's  only  one 
game  of  chance  that  can  properly  be  played  for  love 
and  that's  love  itself,  a  pastime  with  more  pitfalls 
to  the  square  inch  than  has  Poker  to  the  calendar 
year." 

John  sighed. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  —  bored  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"No,"  said  John,  emphatically.  "Not  tired  and 
not  bored.  Just  a  sigh  of  recueillement  des  esprits." 

The  professor  bowed.  "Well,  I  could  go  on  for 
hours,  but  somehow  it 's  too  big  a  field  for  words.  Like 
every  deep  philosophy,  Poker  is  a  school  of  silence. 
How  can  I  describe  in  words  the  active  meditation,  the 
concentration  of  thought,  of  insight  as  well  as  sight, 
that  I  had  to  apply  month  after  month  to  discover  that 
Professor  Tremond  had  that  fatal  thing  in  Poker  —  a 
habit?  When  he  was  going  to  draw  to  two  pair  he 
always  laid  his  cards  on  the  table,  three  on  one  side, 
two  on  the  other,  called  for  one  card,  and  then  split 
the  two.  Pardon  me.  Have  you  ever  —  ?  " 

John  nodded,  smiling.  "Penny-ante  on  the  Alex- 
andrine" 

"  A  good  beginning,"  said  the  professor.  "  A  game 
in  which  a  dollar  bet  looks  big  to  every  one  sitting  in 
is  just  as  good  Poker  and  often  better  than  the  variety 
that  blooms  out  in  white  chips  at  a  hundred  dollars 
apiece.  But  to  get  back  to  Professor  Tremond  and  his 
habit.  One  calm,  starry  night  I  drew  to  three  aces 
and  filled  with  a  pair  of  treys.  Tremond  had  made  his 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  73 

if 

habitual  draw  to  two  pair  and  at  the  raise  I  knew  that 
he,  too,  had  filled." 

The  professor's  hand  went  up  to  smooth  his  pointed 
heard.  "  That  was  a  great  moment,  one  of  the  mo- 
ments you  have  to  wait  long  for,  even  in  Poker.  At 
first  I  felt  a  qualm,  as  though  I  were  shamelessly  bet- 
ting on  a  royal  flush.  Then  I  reasoned  it  out  that  if 
I  held  a  certainty  it  was  no  gift  of  the  gods  but  a  re- 
ward to  untiring  vigilance.  Also,  in  the  argot  of  the 
game,  Tremond  owed  me  money." 

The  professor's  eyes  took  on  a  far-away  look.  "I 
knifed  him  for  the  limit.  He  knifed  me  back.  It 
became  monotonous.  I  called  him,  out  of  pity,  with 
about  the  last  hundred  I  had  at  the  bank  on  account 
current.  Speaking  again  in  the  argot  of  the  game,  he 
still  owes  me  money.  That  was  the  spring  I  cabled 
you  I  was  n't  coming  over  after  all." 

"  What !  "  gasped  John.     "  You  lost  ?     But  — " 

"  Exactly,"  remarked  the  professor,  calmly.  "  But. 
That 's  the  unfading  glory  of  Poker.  There  's  always 
a  But.  To  speak  accurately,  the  chances  against  a  But 
of  some  kind  are  exactly  649,739  to  one." 

"  Then,"  said  John,  musingly,  "  Professor  Tremond 
must  have  broken  his  rule,  held  up  threes  and  drawn 
one  to  a  kicker." 

"  No,"  said  his  father,  solemnly,  "  he  did  n't  break 
his  rule.  He  drew  to  two  pair,  all  right  —  two  pair 
of  Icings,  and  —  and  the  card  he  discarded  was  an  ace." 

He  paused  until  John's  eyes  lit  up  with  comprehen- 
sion of  the  importance  of  that  valueless  ace.  "  You 
see,"  he  went  on  reminiscently,  "  Tremond  might  have 


74  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

thought  I  'd  made  a  monkey  draw  to  a  three-card 
straight  flush,  absolutely  the  only  hand  out  against  him. 
But  he  wasn't  backing  that  chance,  good  as  it  was. 
What  he  backed  was  a  little  discovery  of  his  own  and 
he  milked  it  dry." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Simply  this,"  said  his  father,  "  he  had  discovered 
that  /  had  a  habit  —  a  habit  of  looking  for  habits  in 
Poker." 

He  sat  down  and  sank  back  into  the  big  chair. 
"  Depths  upon  depths,"  he  murmured.  "  Can  any 
other  game  on  earth  match  the  poignant  illustration 
I  've  just  put  before  you  ?  May  you  live  to  see  our 
country  turn  back  from  the  flesh-pots  and  the  chatter- 
ing calls  of  Bridge  to  a  game  that  leans  on  no  spoken 
word  or  partner's  purse  but  holds  you  through  the  short 
hours  of  the  night  enthralled  by  the  silent  eloquence 
of  the  money  on  the  table  and  the  cards  you  hold. 
Poor  old  Tremond!  The  Five  Club  never  saw  him 
again  but  he  was  a  sportsman.  The  last  thing  he  said 
was,  '  Tell  Professor  Bogardus  I  feel  mean  dying  like 
this.  It  isn't  playing  the  game." 


CHAPTER  IX 

JOHN"  dated  one  of  his  rebirths  from  that  breath- 
less evening  in  the  library.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
though  for  years  he  had  been  walking  round  and  round 
his  father,  always  at  the  same  distance,  always  im- 
pressed and  depressed  by  an  impregnable  exterior  that 
invited  and  denied  at  the  same  time,  only  to  stumble 
at  last  and  bump  against  the  secret  spring  of  a  trick 
door.  He  had  walked  in;  for  the  first  time  he  saw 
his  father  from  the  inside.  The  things  he  found  there, 
things  to  love  and  things  to  laugh  at,  made  him  feel 
like  a  child  in  a  treasure  house,  continually  rubbing  his 
lamp  of  Aladdin,  continually  astounded. 

During  all  their  leisure  hours,  he  followed  his  fa- 
ther around,  gave  him  a  new  affection  that  kindled 
affection,  sounded  him  on  every  topic  under  the  sun, 
led  him  on  to  disclose  qualities  he  had  never  before 
possessed  and,  quite  unconsciously,  molded  him;  for 
there  is  nothing  that  affects  a  man  so  vitally  as  the 
belief  in  him,  the  faith  and  the  overestimation  of  those 
about  him.  In  other  words,  a  father  can  still  be  born 
when  he  is  about  forty-eight  years  old. 

The  Bogarduses  became  inseparable.  They  took 
long  walks  together,  played  golf  together,  and  some- 
times, late  in  the  still,  warm  nights  of  spring,  strolled 

for  hours  on  the  silent  campus,  peopled  for  the  elder  not 

75 


76  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

alone  with  his  own  memories  but  with  the  long  string 
of  inherited  memories  that  throng  the  campus  of  every 
old  college  and  make  it  when  most  deserted  most  full 
of  goodly  company. 

As  James  Bogardus  initiated  his  son  into  mysteries, 
lichen-stained  and  obscured  by  the  fertile  imagination 
of  a  dozen  generations,  told  him  the  worn  but  unwritten 
tale  of  the  Gardener's  Daughter  and,  in  a  hushed  hour, 
the  history  of  the  single,  hidden  grave  where  a  young 
girl  lies  alone  and  unashamed  amid  the  dwellings  of 
a  thousand  ever-changing  men,  he  felt  the  thrill  of 
many  another  father  who  along  those  same  old  byways 
has  first  met  his  boy  face  to  face.  He  discovered  his 
son  in  no  less  measure  than  his  son  had  discovered  him, 
and  the  discovery  filled  him  with  pangs,  with  regrets, 
as  though  the  wife  he  had  so  passionately  loved  had  not 
died  indeed  but  had  lived  on  beside  him  and  he,  self- 
blinded  and  dull,  had  failed  to  see  and  feel  her  there. 

In  a  few  weeks  he  aged  perceptibly  but  his  age  was 
more  lovable  than  his  erect  and  independent  manhood. 
He  began  to  love  his  boy  as  he  had  loved  the  boy's 
mother  and  jealousy  sprang  up  in  him  for  the  years 
in  his  son's  life  that  were  a  blank  to  him.  He  saw 
them  as  a  great  sweep  of  smooth  sand  upon  which  his 
finger  had  not  written,  a  desert  dotted  with  the  dry 
shells  of  dry  reports  on  scholarship  and  deportment. 

He  was  consumed  by  the  deadly  inquisitiveness  that 
goes  hand  in  hand  with  all  jealousy.  He  began  to 
probe  and  to  try  to  relive  the  panorama  of  his  boy's 
life  that  he  might,  even  at  this  late  date,  force  himself 
into  the  picture.  He  was  not  afraid,  for  he  believed 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  77 

that  the  future  could  hold  no  shock  that  would  shake 
him  as  had  the  sudden  realization  of  his  own  long  de- 
tachment, no  less  cold  and  cruel  for  having  been  uncon- 
scious. 

The  conversations  in  the  library  adopted  a  wider  and 
wider  range.  To  John  they  were  wholly  satisfying  but 
in  his  father  they  awakened  a  yearning  he  could  not 
fathom.  He  strove  to  talk  back  through  the  years  to 
the  child  in  his  son  but  was  met  at  the  very  door  of 
yesterday  by  an  equal,  and  had  to  talk  man  to  man. 
It  was  a  riddle  he  was  soon  to  read. 

They  had  been  talking  of  women  and  so  at  one 
did  James  Bogardus  feel  with  his  son  that  not  till  the 
conversation  was  well  under  way  and  had  settled  into 
the  sure  lines  of  accepted  premises  did  his  eyes  fix 
in  sudden  perception  of  how  far  their  minds  had  drifted 
on  that  troubled  sea  —  and  together.  What  right  had 
he  to  talk  to  his  son  like  this  ?  By  what  right  did  his 
son  understand  him,  did  they  understand  each  other? 

His  glance  settled  on  John's  keen  face  and  stayed, 
searching  deeper  and  deeper  for  the  revelation  from 
which  he  already  began  to  shrink.  The  boy's  combina- 
tion of  youth  and  assured  age  came  suddenly  nearer, 
stood  out  in  bold  contrast.  Youth  sang  a  song  in  his 
shining  eyes,  in  the  glow  of  his  dusky  cheeks,  in  the 
squaring  of  his  shoulders,  but  woven  with  the  song, 
holding  it  to  earth,  was  a  sober  undertone,  the  flat  minor 
of  knowledge. 

"  When  I  was  your  age,"  said  James  Bogardus,  after 
a  long  pause,  "  women  were  not  yet  a  mystery  to  me. 
An  illusion  is  never  a  mystery.  At  your  age  I  looked 


78  JOHN    BOGARDTJS 

on  women  as  one  blinded  by  light.  Hair,  flesh,  legs  — 
such  terms  would  never  have  entered  my  descriptive 
thoughts.  Woman  was  not  flesh  and  blood  so  much  as 
an  essence  of  humanity,  crowned  with  ambrosial  locks, 
a  being  whose  movements  were  intoned  to  the  measure 
of  vera  incessu  patuit  dea.  I  could  not  imagine  woman 
as  subjected  to  the  rougher  exigencies  of  nature.  Such 
facts  as  had  been  forced  upon  me  were  powerless  to 
crop  the  wings  of  my  conception  and  for  many  a  pulsing 
day  I  believed  that  the  faint  scent  of  a  tiny  handker- 
chief came  from  the  tiny  hands  that  held  it,  because  I 
wanted  to  believe  it.  But  you  —  you  — " 

A  slow  flush  had  risen  in  John's  cheeks  as  he  lis- 
tened. He  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  father's  face  and  read 
there  the  eager  question  held  back,  as  are  so  many  ques- 
tions, by  the  fear  of  bald  words.  He  waited  but  his 
father  did  not  go  on. 

"  I  skipped  that  part  of  life,"  said  John  at  last.  He 
moved  restlessly  in  his  chair  and  his  eyes  wandered. 
"  Do  you  remember  the  Mansinis  ?  " 

"  What  ?  Who  ?  "  said  the  professor,  his  mind  striv- 
ing to  take  the  violent  turn.  "  Mansinis  ?  Yes,  I  've 
got  it  now.  They  were  the  couple  I  left  you  with  in 
Florence.  Taught  you  Italian." 

John  nodded.  "Well,"  he  said,  "she  was  a  bad 
woman." 

A  long  silence,  like  a  curtain,  fell  on  his  words ;  not 
a  dividing  curtain  but  a  curtain  that  cuts  off  the  world 
and  makes  intimacy  absolute  beyond  mere  nakedness, 
the  shrinking  intimacy  of  raw  flesh.  The  ticking  of 
the  clock  in  the  hall  became  first  audible,  then  loud. 


y  JOHN    BOGARDUS  79 

Silence  surrendered  to  tiny  sounds  such  as  the  infini- 
tesimal crackling  of  drying  wall-paper  or  the  buzzing  of 
a  fly's  wings  against  glass. 

"  But  Florence !  "  said  the  elder  Bogardus  at  last, 
hoarsely.  "  Florence !  "  He  forced  each  word  out. 
"  It  is  incredible.  You  were  a  boy,  a  mere  child !  " 

"  I  was  a  child  when  I  went  there,"  said  John,  sim- 
ply, his  eyes  on  the  floor.  When  he  raised  them  they 
met  such  a  sight  as  a  few  weeks  ago  would  have  been 
unbelievable,  incongruous,  grotesque,  but  that  to-night 
seemed  but  a  natural  culmination,  a  logical  consumma- 
tion of  all  that  had  gone  before.  Two  tears  had  sprung 
from  his  father's  eyes  and  were  slowly  crawling  down 
his  cheeks. 

Love,  pity,  self -recrimination,  seethed  through  James 
Bogardus's  mind.  His  eyes,  moist  as  they  had  not  been 
during  ten  long,  unseeing  years,  stared  at  his  son.  He 
clasped  his  hands  to  stop  their  trembling  and  then, 
aware  for  the  first  time  of  the  tears  on  his  cheeks,  he 
sought  hastily  for  a  handkerchief. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  trying  to  smile,  "  Good  night. 
Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  said  John,  with  quick  understanding, 
and  hurried  from  the  room. 

It  was  still  early,  too  early  to  go  to  bed.  He  left 
the  house  and  wandered  across  the  town  into  the  cam- 
pus. The  memory  of  his  father's  tears  followed  and 
troubled  him.  Had  he  been  right  to  tell?  Could  he 
not  have  foreseen  the  wound,  deep  beyond  healing,  that 
his  words  must  leave  ?  He  sat  down  on  a  bank,  grassy 
and  soft  with  the  first  thick  coat  of  spring,  and  thought 


80  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

it  out.  His  eyes  wandered  around  the  shadowy  campus 
and  over  the  multitudes  of  subdued  lights  that  glowed 
like  sleepy  eyes  from  bulky  dormitories  and  left  the 
other  buildings  gloomy  by  contrast,  plunged  in  dignified 
slumber. 

No,  he  had  been  neither  right  nor  wrong ;  he  had  had 
no  choice.  From  the  moment  that  he  and  his  father 
discovered  each  other  they  had  moved  inevitably  from 
revelation  to  revelation  until  they  passed  from  dark- 
ness to  ultimate  light,  and  it  would  be  cowardly  to 
cavil  at  the  price.  For  himself,  he  was  glad;  glad  at 
the  ending  of  mystery,  at  the  passing  of  distance,  con- 
tent even  with  the  tears  that  must  have  cost  his  father 
much  but  that  had  washed  away  the  last  crumb  of  the 
hateful  wall  that  had  stood  between  them. 

He  rose  and  wandered  listlessly  from  scene  to  scene 
which  he  thought  had  grown  familiar  but  to-night, 
without  his  father  beside  him  to  link  present  and  past, 
without  his  father's  eyes  through  which  to  see,  the  si- 
lent campus  was  strangely  unpeopled,  a  vast  emptiness 
that  echoed  back  an  emptiness  within  him.  He  became 
suddenly  lonely.  He  was  amazed,  dismayed,  that  the 
love  he  had  awakened  in  his  father,  far  from  saving 
him  from  feeling  alone,  had  but  opened  his  eyes  to  his 
own  enduring  solitude.  What  place  had  he  in  these 
walks,  hallowed  not  by  days  but  by  years  and  genera- 
tions to  the  hearts  that  loved  and  owned  them  ? 

He  choked  on  the  thought  that  in  will  and  in  body 
he  had  returned  to  his  native  land  only  to  find  him- 
self no  part  of  its  vital  fiber.  Had  he  been  cut  off  too 
early  from  the  parent  stock,  traveled  too  long  a  road 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  81 

on  the  broad  highway  of  life  ever  to  come  back  to  that 
inner  circle  of  familiar  habit,  communal  morals  and 
treasured  prejudices  that  bind  each  human  being  to  a 
single  place  and  time,  the  place  and  time  of  his  partic- 
ular sources? 

And  women?  For  months  women  had  not  entered 
his  head,  but  now  his  thoughts  turned  back  to  Signora 
Mansini,  yesterday  tucked  so  far  into  the  past,  to-day 
so  unforgetably  near.  From  her  they  passed  on  in 
long  leaps  to  a  French  grisette,  a  Spanish  singer  of 
provincial  zarzuelas,  a  Portuguese  landlady,  to  the  lan- 
guid woman  in  Durban,  to  a  memory  of  Melbourne,, 
and  finally  to  the  dull  contrast  of  the  friendly  profes- 
sors' wives  that  lived  their  placid  lives  under  the  shadow 
of  these  placid  walls  never  dreaming  how  small  an  in- 
dex was  their  clustered  constellation  to  the  vast  firma- 
ment of  the  world  of  women. 

Finally,  he  thought  of  his  classes.  What  a  bore  they 
had  been  during  these  last  few  days,  what  a  farce  from 
the  very  beginning!  He  passed  all  his  pupils  in  re- 
view and  ended  by  smiling  ruefully  at  himself  for  he 
felt  as  though  half  of  him  were  the  kindly  Abraham 
pleading  for  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  and  the  other  half 
the  angelic  ambassador,  kindly,  too,  but  inexorably 
just. 

Was  this  to  be  his  life,  bound  to  a  daily  wheel, 
not  teaching  wings  to  fly  but  watching  for  pin-feathers 
to  sprout?  What  about  his  own  pinions?  Could  he 
ever  soar  upon  them  here  or  would  they  raise  him,  at 
best,  only  to  hover  in  a  wide  prison  like  a  captive  bal- 
loon? 


82  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

In  the  weeks  that  followed  that  confessional  night 
he  found  his  father  more  tender,  more  thoughtful  than 
ever,  but  also  possessed  of  a  new  shyness  that  followed 
oddly  on  his  old-time,  straightforward  independence. 
He  would  sit  alone  by  the  hour  and  brood  over  his  son, 
not  bitterly,  but  with  the  dazed  wonder  of  the  older 
generation  realizing  for  the  first  time  the  new.  He 
had  no  more  questions  to  ask,  and  now  when  they  were 
together,  knowing  all,  he  was  content  to  talk  charm- 
ingly of  abstract  things,  happy  when  he  saw  the  light 
of  interest  in  his  son's  eyes. 

During  these  same  weeks  John  was  restless  because 
he  was  gradually  coming  to  a  momentous  resolve.  A 
few  months  ago  he  had  felt  that  he  owed  much  not  to 
his  father  but  to  a  stranger  who  happened  to  be  his 
father,  and  one  had  to  be  punctilious  with  debts  to 
strangers.  But  now  all  that  was  changed.  He  had 
come  to  feel  that  he  and  his  father  owned  their  fund 
of  life  in  common  and  that  what  he  owed,  he  owed  to 
himself.  He  was  striving  to  determine  just  what  was 
that  debt. 

It  was  a  ludicrous  incident  that  brought  him  to  the 
climax  of  a  final  decision.  On  the  last  night  of  the 
term  he  was  delayed  well  beyond  his  dinner-hour,  read- 
ing over  the  written  tests  of  his  largest  class.  As  he 
walked  past  one  of  the  big  Sophomore  eating  clubs  he 
was  struck  by  the  unusual  pandemonium  going  on  in- 
side, and  a  moment  later  was  almost  knocked  off  his 
feet  by  an  entire  pie  that  sailed  out  of  an  open  window 
and  landed  squarely  on  his  neck. 

On  a  quick  impulse  he  gathered  it  up  into  a  soggy 


*  JOHN"   BOGARDUS  83 

ball  and  hurled  it  back.  It  was  a  good  shot.  He  could 
see  it  splattering  its  way  down  the  full  length  of  a 
long  table  and  the  roar  of  surprise  and  rage  that  an- 
swered this  sudden  flank  attack  told  him  better  than 
words  that  the  original  assault  upon  himself  had  been 
not  only  unintentional  but  unremarked. 

John  was  filled  with  delight  and  was  wishing  he 
could  go  in  and  join  battle  when  an  outraged  face 
appeared  at  the  window.  There  was  a  shout  and  a 
moment  later  the  entire  club  was  rushing  for  the  doors, 
John  knew  that  he  could  not  have  been  recognized  in 
the  outdoor  twilight.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  then, 
with  a  grin,  he  took  to  his  heels,  pulling  his  soft  hat 
well  down  over  his  face  as  he  ran  straight  up  the  main 
street,  bedlam  at  his  back. 

The  crowd  was  growing  like  a  rolling  snowball  and 
gaining  fast  when  he  doubled  into  the  lane  that  led  to 
his  father's  house.  The  multitude  doubled,  too,  and 
was  just  in  time  to  see  him  calmly  fitting  his  latchkey 
to  the  door.  First  came  wonder,  then  a  deep,  deep 
silence  and  finally  stealthy  retreat  punctuated  here  and 
there  by  a  chuckle  or  a  phrase. 

"  Say,  fellows,  let 's  keep  this  mum." 

"  Sure.  So  easy !  Not  over  a  thousand  saw  us  come 
down  the  street !  " 

"  7s  it  one  on  us  ?     Oh,  no.     Not  at  all !  " 


CHAPTEK  X 

WHEN,  on  the  following  morning,  the  last  day  of 
the  scholastic  year,  John  met  his  French  class 
in  unusual  force,  his  pupils  had  every  reason  to  expect 
that  he  would  follow  an  ancient  custom  and  dismiss 
them  after  a  few  words  of  formal  farewell  and  an  an- 
nouncement of  the  date  on  which  he  expected  to  give 
out  the  results  of  their  final  tests,  but  their  attention  was 
immediately  caught  by  the  orderly  pile  of  their  exam- 
ination papers,  thickly  interspersed  with  marked  slips, 
placed  ready  to  hand  on  his  desk. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  pedagogic  career  John  was 
nervous.  He  Cached  out  jerkily  toward  the  examina- 
tion papers  as  though  he  were  about  to  distribute  them, 
changed  his  mind,  drew  back  his  hand,  braced  his 
shoulders,  eyed  the  class  searchingly  as  he  had  never 
eyed  it  before,  and  began  to  speak.  He  spoke  in 
French,  slowly,  clearly,  and  at  the  end  of  the  first  sen- 
tence paused  and  swept  his  glance  from  face  to  in- 
dividual face.  Everywhere  his  eyes  were  met  by  good- 
natured  but  puzzled  incomprehension. 

His  lips  curved  into  a  smile  and  then  slowly  straight- 
ened. He  began  to  speak  again,  still  in  French,  but 
now  his  eyes  left  off  looking  at  his  pupils  and  wan- 
dered over  their  heads  to  the  farther  wall,  to  the  open 
windows,  and  sometimes  to  his  own  hands  clasped  on 
the  desk  before  him.  His  introduction  was  measured, 

84 


tf  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS  85 

almost  ponderous,  but  once  that  was  over  he  spoke  rap- 
idly, with  the  masterly  unconcern  for  his  audience  of 
the  finished  classroom  lecturer. 

He  declared  that  it  was  his  intention  to  envisage 
the  French  language  as  a  woman,  to  examine  her  pa- 
ternity, play  with  her  in  the  cradle,  nurse  her  safely 
past  the  danger  of  bowlegs,  stand  her  on  her  own  feet 
and  watch  her  learn  to  walk,  define  her  flirtations  and 
assist  at  her  marriage,  bringing  her  finally  to  the 
glorious  maturity  whose  liquidity,  tonal  perception  and 
subtle  finesse  proclaimed  her  not  only  feminine  to  the 
tips  of  her  caressing  fingers  but  queen  to  all  the  idioms 
of  the  earth. 

As  he  talked,  for  his  own  sole  edification,  he  reveled 
in  asides  of  wit,  in  slurs,  and  in  an  occasional  panegyric. 
He  dubbed  the  very  name,  francisca,  the  indelible  Teu- 
ton brand  on  the  face  of  Gaul ;  he  emphasized  the  har- 
monizing influence  of  all  Gallic  assimilation  and  ex- 
pressed his  doubts  as  to  whether  ecrevisses  au  naturel 
could  ever  have  attained  their  present  price  and  con- 
sumption in  the  restaurants  of  Paris  under  their  orig- 
inal barbarian  patronymic.  He  referred  to  the  eu- 
phonious cJioucroute  as  a  living  example  of  this 
tradition  of  harmony,  a  word  whose  unaided  inherent 
qualities  carried  its  metamorphosis  into  the  vegetable 
kingdom  and  enabled  man  for  the  first  time  to  think 
of  cabbage  as  a  fragrance  rather  than  a  smell. 

It  is  a  pity  that  John  could  not  have  assisted  as  a 
spectator  at  the  comedy  he  was  enacting.  He  and  he 
alone  could  have  appreciated  to  the  full  the  initial  look 
of  puzzlement  on  his  hearers'  faces,  changing  gradually 


86  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

to  wonder  and  finally  to  admiration  as  the  conviction 
stole  upon  the  class  that  it  was  witnessing  a  sporting 
event  of  no  mean  order.  Watches  were  stealthily 
drawn  out  and  a  dollar-pool  was  started  as  to  how  long 
he  could  keep  it  up.  The  ignorant  appealed  to  those 
they  deemed  less  ignorant  as  to  what  the  lecture  was 
about,  but  once  the  class  was  satisfied  that  all  sat  in  an 
equal  mental  fog,  whispering  ceased  and  every  man  sat 
spellbound  and  attentive,  held  by  the  charm  of  a  sheer 
tour  de  force,  unintelligible  in  detail  but  easily  visual- 
ized in  its  general  massive  contour. 

With  his  peroration  John  came  back  to  his  original 
figure  and  pictured  modern  French  as  a  matured  woman 
at  the  apex  of  her  charms.  His  enthusiasm  brought  a 
glow  to  his  cheeks,  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  words 
mounted  in  a  steady  ascent  to  a  sure  climax.  His  ardor 
was  infectious.  In  the  words  of  one  of  the  students, 
he  put  it  across.  When  his  voice  descended  in  a  cas- 
cading fall  to  a  final  period  the  whole  class  burst  out 
into  spontaneous  applause. 

After  a  short  silence  an  accumulated  sigh  went  up; 
men  stretched,  and  two  lucky  ones  gathered  in  the 
dollar-pool  and  divided  it  to  an  accompaniment  of 
shuffling  feet.  John  reached  out,  picked  up  the  pile 
of  examination  papers,  and  passed  it  to  a  pupil  for 
distribution. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  in  English,  "  I  have  tried  to 
prepare  you  for  a  shock.  You  are  all  marked  zero." 

A  gasping  stillness  fell  on  the  room,  followed  almost 
immediately  by  excited  protests  and  then  by  remon- 
strances. 


y  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  87 

"  You  can't  do  it,  sir." 

"  The  Dean  won't  stand  for  it." 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  n't  done." 

"  Ask  your  own  Old  Man." 

They  were  all  friendly  and  all  eager  to  save  John 
from  himself.  Jack  Holson,  for  whom  he  had  once  had 
a  faint  hope,  stood  up  and  assumed  spokesmanship. 
"  Look  here,  sir.  D'  you  know  what  '11  happen  to  you  ? 
You  '11  get  the  sack.  Just  take  back  these  papers  and 
grade  them  up  a  bit.  We  all  know  they  're  rotten  and 
we  all  deserve  flunking,  but  you  've  got  to  shade  it  for 
your  own  sake.  It  would  be  a  good  idea  to  let  us  draw 
lots  for  three  or  four  to  pass.  There  's  many  a  prof 
that 's  felt  like  flunking  a  whole  class,  but  they  all  stop 
short  of  it  because  they  know  it  simply  won't  go." 

"  That 's  right,  sir,"  said  another  solicitous  voice. 
"  If  you  stick  to  it  Johnnie  Dugan  '11  be  the  only  mem- 
ber of  the  faculty  to  see  you  off  at  the  station." 

John  laughed  with  the  rest  of  them  at  this  reference 
to  the  ancient  campus  police  force  and  then  passed  his 
smiling  glance  from  one  to  another  of  the  faces  before 
him.  He  was  proud  of  these  boys;  he  could  see  they 
were  all  in  earnest  and  thinking  not  at  all  of  their  own 
plight  but  of  his.  With  a  thrill  he  realized  that  they 
liked  him. 

"  Fellows,"  he  said,  coloring  at  the  friendly  audacity 
of  the  word,  "  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  '11  have  to  stand  pat. 
You  see,  if  I  did  n't  flunk  the  lot  of  you  I  could  n't 
consistently  flunk  myself  and  that 's  what  I  Ve  done. 
There 's  a  duck's  egg  after  all  our  names,  mine  in- 
cluded, and  it  fits.  When  you  grow  up  I  don't  want 


88  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

you  drinking  to  my  faint  memory  at  reunions  in  milk 
and  water.  I  want  you  to  remember  this  occasion  as 
a  general  knock-out  where  all  parties  concerned  landed 
outside  the  ropes.  If  we  've  only  been  bumped  hard 
enough  and  keep  thinking  about  it  long  enough  perhaps 
your  sons  will  come  here  with  a  different  idea  of  a 
university  and  find  a  different  kind  of  man  to  help  it 
grow.  That 's  all,  except  that  I  hope  you  '11  enjoy  in- 
dividually the  continuation  of  the  long  holiday  we  've 
spent  together." 

"  Yay !     Yay !  "  yelled  the  class,  all  agrin. 

Jack  Holson  sprang  to  his  feet  and  raised  his  arms. 
"  Now,  fellows,"  he  shouted,  "  everybody  up  and  give 
a  Tiger  for  Kid  Bogardus !  " 

When  the  last  of  the  class  filed  out,  the  walls  were 
still  reverberating  the  thunder  of  the  staccato  cheer  that 
John  had  more  than  once  seen  spur  the  college  team  to 
superhuman  effort  and  to  victory.  He  felt  a  glow 
within  him  as  though,  after  all,  his  pedagogic  year  had 
not  gone  quite  for  nothing.  The  shuffling  of  feet  in 
the  hall  paused,  ceased,  and  gave  way  to  a  continued 
murmuring.  Presently  Jack  Holson  came  back. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "  but  we  'd  like  to  know  if  you  're  going  to 
hand  your  other  classes  the  same  lemon.  We're  not 
just  curious,  but  we'd  hate  to  spoil  it  for  them  by 
yapping  if  —  if  — " 

"  I  see,"  said  John,  with  a  grin.  "  Better  keep  mum 
till  after  my  Spanish  session." 

"  What  about  the  Poler  Brigade  ?  "  asked  Holson. 

John  smiled  at  himself  for  recognizing  at  first  hear- 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  89 

tr 

ing  the  popular  nickname  of  his  Italian  class.  "  Oh," 
he  said,  "  I  '11  pass  that  lot.  You  can't  use  the  rod  of 
correction  on  people  that  would  take  it  for  a  guillotine." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Holson,  wistfully. 
"  Good-by,  sir,  and  thank  you." 

That  night  the  elder  Bogardus  invited  his  son  into  the 
library  immediately  after  dinner.  For  a  moment  John 
thought  his  father  had  already  heard  of  his  drastic  re- 
volt and  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  had  dreaded  deal- 
ing directly  the  blow  to  the  professor's  life-long  ambi- 
tion. But  almost  immediately  he  realized  that  the  blow 
was  yet  to  fall.  James  Bogardus  sat  down  calmly  at 
his  big  writing  desk,  leaned  back  in  the  swivel  chair,  and 
placed  his  fingers  tip  to  tip.  "  Can  you  guess  what  I 
want  to  talk  over  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  N-no,"  stammered  John. 

"  My  resignation,"  said  the  professor.  "  You  will 
remember  — " 

"  Father,"  interrupted  John.  "  Forgive  me,  but 
I  Ve  got  something  to  tell  you,  something  that  comes 
first,  and  —  and  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it." 

"  Something  that  comes  first  ? "  repeated  the  pro- 
fessor, looking  puzzled  but  courteously  patient. 

"I  —  I  've  beaten  you  to  it,"  blurted  out  John. 

"  Beaten  me  to  it  ? "  repeated  the  professor  again, 
his  lip  curling  fastidiously  at  the  phrase.  "  Beaten  me 
to  what  ? " 

"  To  resignation,"  said  John.  "  I  resigned  this 
afternoon  and  there  "s  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  its 
being  accepted." 

The  professor  let  his  chair  down  slowly  and  gripped 


90 

the  edge  of  his  desk.  "  You  resigned !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  ?  "  He  looked  dazed. 

John  moved  nervously  in  his  chair;  then  raised  his 
eyes  squarely  to  his  father's  face.  "  I  don't  know  that 
I  can  tell  you/'  he  said,  "  or  that  you  '11  understand  even 
if  I  do  get  it  into  words.  I  've  known  for  a  long  while 
that  I  did  n't  want  to  teach  Romance  languages  but  I 
did  n't  know  till  just  lately  that  I  could  n't.  It 's  hard 
for  me  to  explain  it.  I  did  n't  begin  to  see  things  clear 
until  that  night  I  told  you  about  the  Mansini  woman. 
Up  to  then  you  had  been  a  sort  of  stranger  to  whom  I 
owed  money,  life,  my  future.  But  that  night  — " 

"  That  night,"  interrupted  the  professor,  the  dazed 
look  passing  from  his  eyes,  "  you  saw  what  I  saw,  that 
I  was  grossly,  shamefully,  in  debt  to  you." 

"  No !  No !  "  protested  John,  the  tears  starting  to 
his  eyes.  "  I  did  not.  It  is  n't  true.  What  I  felt 
was  that  once  we  were  no  longer  strangers,  once  we  were 
just  father  and  son,  there  could  n't  be  a  question  of  debt 
and  that  the  cruelest  thing  I  could  do  to  you  or  to  me 
was  to  hide  myself,  dwarf  .myself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  professor,  wearily, 
as  though  he  would  rather  be  alone  to  think  things  out. 

"  After  I  left  you  that  night,"  said  John,  "  I  went  out 
on  the  campus.  It  was  a  lovely  night,  so  warm  and 
smelling  of  spring.  Everything  was  very  still  and  I 
wandered  over  all  the  paths  we've  followed  so  often 
together  and  I  felt  alone,  more  alone  than  I  'd  ever  felt 
before.  I  got  to  thinking  about  my  work  and  I  saw  that 
it  was  just  a  farce,  a  long  farce  that  could  only  save 
itself  from  banality  by  a  climax." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  91 

if 

"  So  you  prepared  the  climax  without  talking  it  over 
with  me  ? "  asked  the  professor. 

"  I  had  to,"  said  John.  "  It  was  only  without  you 
that  I  could  feel  alone,  could  see  myself,  and  this  is 
what  I  saw.  That  one  can't  really  teach  without  being 
planted." 

"  Planted  ?  "  repeated  the  professor  with  raised  eye- 
brows. 

John  nodded  his  head  emphatically.  "  Yes,"  he  said. 
"  Planted  in  the  world  in  which  you  labor,  or  in  its  tra- 
ditions, or  sympathies,  or  —  or  in  content.  You  've 
got  to  belong  first  and  teach  afterwards.  I  don't  expect 
you  to  understand  that  or  how  I  came  to  feel  it.  It 's 
even  a  bit  vague  to  me  but  powerful  just  as  the  biggest 
truths  are  vague  and  potent.  Perhaps  there  's  some 
place  where  I  belong  but  it 's  not  here.  I  think  that, 
for  a  while,  I  belong  to  youth.  I  want  to  rough- 
house." 

"  To  what  ?  "  cried  the  professor. 

"  Rough-house,"  said  John,  coloring,  and  told  his 
father  about  his  outbreak  of  the  night  before  when  he 
had  hurled  back  the  soggy  pie. 

The  professor  smiled  and  then  sighed.  "  My  boy," 
he  said  wistfully,  "  could  n't  you  have  told  me  all  this, 
about  not  wanting  to  teach  three  years  ago  ?  If  you  'd 
only  said  one  word,  even  after  you  came  back  from 
South  Africa,  I  would  have  known  you  were  n't  ready. 
I  could  have  waited." 

John  shook  his  head.  "  ~No"  he  said  and  stopped. 
His  eyes  met  his  father's  and  saw  understanding  dawn- 
ing in  them.  "  I  could  n't  tell  you,  then,"  he  finished, 


92  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

and  looked  away.  "  I  did  n't  know,"  he  continued 
quickly.  "  How  could  I  know  ?  " 

The  professor  sighed  again,  deeply,  then  picked  up  a 
paper  cutter  and  tapped  the  desk  to  steady  his  nerves. 
"  And  yon  're  sure  you  could  n't  have  planted  yourself 
here,  taken  root  if  you  'd  held  out  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John,  doubtfully.  "  Perhaps, 
if  I  could  have  afforded  the  price." 

He  would  have  had  no  doubts  as  to  his  ability  to  root 
himself  could  he  have  witnessed  the  Faculty  Song 
parade  going  on  at  that  moment  on  the  campus  and 
heard  a  hundred  lusty  voices  roaring  out  the  doggerel 
of  a  new  verse. 

"  Here 's  to  Bogardus,  we  called  him  Kid, 
We  thought  he  was  easy,  so  we  did, 
But  now  we  know  that  we  're  the  marks, 
He 's  a  Kid  with  teeth  that  bites  and  barks. 

Hurrah!     Hurrah!  for  sword  and  drum! 
Here  they  come!     Rub-a-da-dum ! 
Looking  as  if  they  'd  been  off  on  a  bum, 
The  Faculty  of  the  College,  O!  " 


CHAPTEK  XI 

JOHN  left  the  room  feeling  exhausted  and  went 
straight  to  bed.  His  father  sat  on  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  plunged  in  thought.  Finally,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  he  arose,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  went  out  of  the 
house,  walking  slowly  toward  the  campus.  He  knew 
so  well  the  scene  he  was  approaching  that  the  first  dis- 
tant sound  of  voices  singing  in  the  night  brought  it  all 
before  him,  vividly  near. 

Old,  old  walls,  ivy-colored,  stately  in  associations,  on 
the  steps  at  their  feet  a  mass  of  youth,  a  glow  of  pipe 
fire,  and  the  flare  now  and  then  of  a  match  lighting  up  a 
blurred  circle  of  young  faces,  tragic  with  the  pain  of 
farewell.  Before  them,  the  glimmering  of  lights  in 
foliage,  the  soft  depths  of  long  shadows  broken  by 
mounds  of  cushions  on  which  reclined  proud  paternity 
and  youthful,  sisterly  beauty,  decked  in  bright  eyes, 
glowing  cheeks,  dimity  and  chiffon.  Here,  there  and 
everywhere  undergrads  and  overgrads  sprawling  on  the 
grass. 

Never  before  had  James  Bogardus  realized  all  that 
that  beloved  open-air  cathedral  of  Gothic  elms  had 
meant  to  him.  Now  he  understood  what  John  had 
striven  so  hard  to  make  clear.  To  give  true  service  one 
must  be  planted,  planted  in  traditions,  in  sympathy,  or 
content.  It  was  a  great  truth,  a  vital  truth.  Then  a 

new  thought  came  to  overwhelm  him  and  plunge  him 

93 


94:  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

deeper  in  his  mood  of  despondency.  In  ^11,  tjs  ^ambi- 
tion he  had  borne  no  gifts  to  his  son.  He  had  robbed 
him,  robbed  him  of  the  sources  of  life  and  happiness, 
of  a  continuing  abiding-place. 

He  was  walking  slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  towards 
the  lights  that  were  already  gleaming  near,  when  a  voice 
hailed  him  from  a  deep  shadow,  the  voice  of  the  very 
man  whom  he  was  about  to  seek. 

"Hello,  Bogardus,"  called  the  Dean  in  low,  pene- 
trating tones,  "  I  was  just  going  to  your  place." 

"  Were  you  ?  "  said  the  professor,  dully.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  Dean  spoke  almost  cheerfully ;  he  could 
not  have  heard. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Dean,  taking  hold  of  the  professor's 
arm,  "let's  walk  away  from  the  noise.  Where's 
John?" 

"  Gone  to  bed,"  said  the  professor. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  ? "  asked  the  Dean,  and  chuckled. 

James  Bogardus  stopped  in  his  tracks,  trembling. 
"  He  did,"  he  said  coldly.  "  Did  it  strike  you  as  being 
funny  ? " 

The  Dean's  grim  mouth  quirked  into  a  smile.  "  Not 
funny,  exactly,  but  admirably  humorous.  I  wish  you 
could  have  been  in  my  place  this  afternoon.  Several 
of  John's  pupils  came  to  me  not  in  a  body  but  singly, 
spontaneously.  I  got  the  story  from  them,  all  but  what 
John  talked  about  in  French,  and,  of  course,  the  fact 
that  not  one  of  them  understood  a  word  of  that  is  his 
slight  vindication  for  wholesale  slaughter." 

"  You  're  talking  in  English,"  said  the  professor, 
"  but  I  don't  understand  a  word  of  what  you  're  saying." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  95 

"  So,"  said  the  Dean,  "  he  did  not  tell  you  after  all." 

"  He  merely  said  he  'd  sent  in  his  resignation,"  an- 
swered the  professor,  "  and  that  there  was  no  chance  it 
would  n't  be  accepted." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  the  whole  business,"  said  the  Dean 
and  proceeded  to  reconstruct  John's  comedy.  He  re- 
peated, almost  word  for  word,  the  little  speech  in 
English  with  which  John  had  ended  up.  "  That  was  a 
great  and  courageous  utterance,"  he  commented.  "  I 
wish  I  'd  had  the  nerve  to  make  that  speech  myself 
twenty  years  ago.  As  the  boys  say,  it  got  across. 
Holson  told  me  he  had  n't  thought  much  about  having 
sons  but  that  if  I  'd  arrange  to  keep  John  here  he  'd 
undertake  to  supply  some  youths  with  the  new  idea  of 
a  university  as  rapidly  as  possible.  He  said  he  knew 
the  arrangement  was  in  the  nature  of  a  bribe  but  that 
bribes  to  colleges  were  in  the  spirit  of  the  times.  A 
thoroughly  impudent  and  attractive  young  man." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  ? "  asked  the  professor,  an 
eager  gleam  in  his  smiling  eyes. 

"  I  told  him  I  had  n't  seen  John's  letter  yet,  that  it 
was  lying  on  my  desk  where  John  could  come  and  take 
it  back  unopened  if  he  felt  like  it  in  the  morning." 

"  You  said  that  ? "  cried  James  Bogardus. 

"  One  moment,"  remarked  the  Dean,  drily.  "  That 
is  n't  all  I  said.  I  told  Holson  to  gather  in  all  the  zero 
papers  and  take  them  to  you  for  re-marking,  then  I 
talked  to  him  about  John.  I  showed  him  that  the  uni- 
versity could  afford  to  keep  John  but  that  I  doubted  if 
he  could  afford  to  stay." 

The  Dean  paused  in  his  stride  and  gripped  the  pro- 


96  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

fessor's  arm.  "  Bogardus,"  he  continued,  "  just  think 
a  moment.  A  man  does  n't  burn  his  bridges  behind  him 
like  that  and  then  crawl  back  over  a  rickety  friendly 
plank.  If  he  really  wants  to  come  back  there  's  only 
one  way  and  that  is  to  breast  the  flood  and  swim  back. 
Take  the  word  of  a  man  that 's  old  even  to  you.  Let 
your  boy  go  out  and  find  himself,  never  mind  where  he 
brings  up.  He 's  a  fighter  and  a  fighter  lives  not  by 
bread  alone  but  by  battle." 

James  Bogardus,  his  heart  wonderfully  cheered,  left 
the  Dean  and  walked  home.  He  saw  a  light  in  John's 
bedroom,  went  up,  and  knocked  softly  on  the  door. 

"  Come  in !  "  called  John. 

The  professor  walked  in  and  found  his  son  lying  in 
bed,  an  open  book,  face  down,  at  his  side.  His  eyes 
were  brilliantly  feverish  and  looked  across  the  room 
anxiously  as  though  they  dreaded  a  renewal  of  hostil- 
ities. 

"  Poor  devil,"  said  the  professor,  pleasantly,  "  I 
know  what  it  is  to  be  tired  out  and  lie  in  bed  by  the  hour 
trying  to  get  your  eyes  to  close." 

The  look  of  anxiety  passed  from  John's  face. 
"  You  Ve  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,"  he  said,  smiling. 

The  professor  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
stood  teetering  from  heel  to  toe.  "  I  've  been  out  for  a 
walk.  I  feel  fine." 

The  words  and  the  dearest  of  all  the  professor's  poses 
were  like  a  tonic  to  John.  He  looked  into  his  father's 
bright  eyes,  shining  out  from  their  distinguished  frame 
of  dark  eyebrows  and  soft  gray  hair  and  beard,  and 
grinned. 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  9? 

"  I  see  yon  want  to  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said.  "  Sit 
down  and  chat.  I  'm  not  tired  any  more." 

The  professor  perched  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
"  I  ran  into  the  Dean  and  we  had  a  long  talk.  He  told 
me  what  happened  in  your  classrooms  to-day.  He  said 
he  had  n't  seen  your  resignation  yet  and  that  if  you 
wanted  to  in  the  morning  you  could  go  to  him  and  get 
your  letter  back  unopened." 

A  quick  frown  came  to  John's  face. 

"  Don't  frown,  please,"  said  the  professor,  calmly. 
"  The  Dean  seemed  to  know  you  better  than  I  did,  for 
he  went  on  to  say  that  after  you  'd  burned  your  bridges 
behind  you  like  that  he  could  n't  see  you  crawling  back 
over  a  rickety,  friendly  plank." 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  "  exclaimed  John,  eagerly. 

The  professor  nodded.  "  And  a  lot  more.  He  said 
he  wished  he  'd  had  the  nerve  to  make  your  little  speech, 
the  one  in  English,  twenty  years  ago  and  the  courage  to 
back  it  up.  He  said  the  university  could  afford  to  keep 
you  but  he  did  n't  think  you  could  afford  to  stay." 

John  felt  his  whole  body  suffused  with  a  glow  of 
well-being.  He  lay  very  still  and  knew  that  he  would 
Boon  be  drowsy.  Suddenly,  with  his  father  still  sitting 
there  slowly  swinging  one  foot  to  and  fro,  John  fell 
sound  asleep.  He  awoke  to  find  the  professor  gone  and 
the  early  summer  sun  blazing  in  at  the  windows.  For 
a  moment  he  lay  quiet,  collecting  the  thoughts  that  the 
night  had  scattered,  then  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  his 
brain  already  seething  with  a  dozen  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

Generic  man  is  still  a  vagabond  at  heart.     The  day 


98  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

that  sees  him  freed  from  the  duties  of  a  forced  routine 
has  a  sweetness  all  its  own ;  it  is  like  a  long  lazy  sigh  that 
lifts  an  unsensed  burden  and  leaves  one  languidly  con- 
tent. On  a  common  impulse  the  Bogarduses,  father 
and  son,  strolled  into  the  library  directly  after  break- 
fast. It  seemed  strange  to  them  to  be  there  together 
in  the  morning  but  it  was  a  pleasant  strangeness,  part 
and  parcel  of  sudden  freedom. 

"  I  've  been  worrying  about  you,"  said  the  professor, 
nodding  his  head  at  John.  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do  ?  I  Ve  trained  you  for  just  one  thing  and  it  hap- 
pens that  it 's  a  thing  that  don't  suit  you.  That 's 
largely  my  fault  and  I  'm  willing  to  help  you  all  I  can, 
but—" 

"  But  you  know,"  interrupted  John,  smiling,  "  that 
I  could  n't  stand  living  on  you  indefinitely." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  professor.  "  So  we  come  back 
to  my  question.  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  How  are 
you  going  to  make  a  living  ? " 

"  Father,"  said  John,  still  smiling,  "  I  've  heard  you 
rail  more  than  once  at  pragmatism,  America's  new  prac- 
tical philosophy.  I  agree  with  you  that  it 's  a  curse  and 
I  grieve  to  tell  you  that  you  yourself  are  tainted. 
You  're  an  unconscious  pragmatist,  the  worst  kind." 

"  Prove  it,"  said  the  professor,  bristling. 

"  Out  of  your  own  mouth,"  said  John,  laughing. 
"  Take  any  million  American  fathers  and  you  '11  hear 
them  singing  to  themselves  in  chorus  and  to  their  sons, 
'  How  are  you  going  to  make  a  living  ? '  Out  of  the 
million  I  doubt  if  there's  a  baker's  dozen  that  asks, 
1  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  life  ? '  How  I  'm 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  99 

going  to  make  a  living  does  n't  interest  me  in  the  slight- 
est." 

The  professor  stared  at  his  son.  "  You  really  mean 
it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "I  —  I  congratulate  you." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  letter  of  credit  you  gave  me  ?  " 
said  John.  "  You  never  asked  me  ahout  it  after  I 
came  back.  Well,  it 's  still  good  enough  to  take  me 
around  the  world  a  couple  of  times." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  professor,  "  if  you  work  your 
way  on  a  wind-jammer." 

"I  wasn't  working  on  the  Alexandrine"  said  John, 
gravely.  "  That 's  just  the  point.  I  was  living." 

The  professor  pondered  for  a  moment,  then  his  face 
lightened.  "  I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  I  've  always 
wondered  how  you  grew  so  quickly  to  man  size.  Under 
the  circumstances,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "  I  'm 
almost  sorry  your  mother  left  you  a  little  money.  You 
may  keep  going  around  the  world  indefinitely." 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  ten  years  ago ;  must  be  about 
eight  now,"  said  his  father.  "  I  suppose  you  think 
you  could  live  forever  on  that  ?  " 

"  Easily,"  said  John  with  a  light-hearted  laugh. 

James  Bogardus's  plans  for  the  summer  had  not  in- 
cluded his  son,  consequently  there  was  no  great  wrench 
to  their  parting.  He  asked  John  which  way  he  was 
headed,  but  John  scarcely  knew.  He  said  he  was  going 
to  New  York  to  feel  around.  Only  a  couple  of  hours 
ago  a  dozen  plans  had  tripped  over  each  other  in  his 
mind ;  now  they  were  all  a  jumble  and  he  felt  vaguely 
as  though  his  thoughts  were  shackled  by  the  little  uni- 


100  JOHN   BOGABDUS 

versity  town.  He  could  not  imagine  it  as  a  starting 
place  as  did  its  thousand  students.  He  was  still  pro- 
fessor enough  to  see  it  in  reverse,  a  quiet  place  where 
roads  end. 


BOOK  II 


...  A  crystal  land  of  prisms;  of  shining  facets  and  cutting 
edges. 


CHAPTEK  XII 

NEW  YORK  held  John  for  weeks  before  he 
thought  he  saw  it  clearly.  At  first  it  dazed 
him,  but  by  the  time  his  heels  were  sore  from  the  hard 
pavements,  the  island  city  began  to  take  shape.  It 
seemed  to  him  a  monster  octopus,  gorging  on  a  varied 
humanity,  each  of  its  tentacles  devoted  to  a  special 
brand. 

West  Street  fed  on  the  flotsam  that  to-day  parodies 
the  name  of  mariner.  Its  back  yard  sucked  in  negroes 
in  a  cloud,  dark,  almost  menacing,  so  infinitely 
was  it  divorced  from  the  puffy  white  of  cotton  fields. 
South  Street  and  its  byways  breathed  in  denatured 
Italy  and  further  north  indigestible  Chinatown  defied 
assimilation  and  marched  uncompromisingly  with  the 
vast  demesne  of  the  unwashed  and  unshaven  Yid,  two 
muddy  confluent  rivers  that  refused  to  mix. 

Around  the  ancient  banner  of  Brevoort  the  French 
colony  sat  tight  and  held  her  skirts  from  contact  with 
less  cleanly  mobs,  while  from  her  side  reached  out  the 
mighty  arm  of  the  Avenue,  feeding  in  an  interminable 
progression  on  the  rich,  the  near-rich,  Harlem,  Yon- 
kers  and  Greeley's  young  man,  coming  back  like  a 
prodigal  son  from  the  West. 

It  took  a  stifling,  hot  morning  in  July  to  wake  John 
up  to  a  sudden  vision  of  truth.  He  saw  that  after  all 

he  had  n't  seen  clearly.     New  York  was  not  an  octopus 

103 


104  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

but  one  of  the  elementary  starting  places  of  the  earth, 
so  great  a  starting  place  that  it  was  a  place  to  come 
back  to  as  well,  a  sort  of  cycle  of  humanity  in  miniature. 

From  the  window  of  his  tiny  hall-bedroom  in  a  lower 
West  Side  street  he  looked  up  through  the  iridescent 
waves  of  the  city's  still  heat  and  saw  mile-high  clouds 
sailing  inland.  They  were  cool  and  white  and  lolled 
lazily  on  a  breeze  that  jumped  the  barrier  of  the  city's 
serrated  battlements  but  vaguely  promised  to  come  to 
earth  far  afield  in  the  friendly  open. 

John  made  haste  to  wing  that  way  himself.  He 
packed  all  his  things  and  stored  them,  arranged  with  his 
bank  to  send  him  currency  of  the  smallest  denomina- 
tions on  demand,  filled  his  pockets  with  sandwiches  and 
took  a  car  to  the  edge  of  the  city.  He  laughed  at  his 
own  amazement  on  discovering  that  however  one  may 
feel  on  lower  Broadway,  New  York  is  not  really  a  thou- 
sand miles  from  the  country.  An  hour  on  foot  carried 
him  well  out  on  the  open  road,  Hudson's  river  on  his 
left,  shimmering  through  trees;  on  his  right,  mounded 
hills,  pretentious  homes,  and  occasional  supercilious 
blooded  cattle  in  paddocks  that  felt  their  master's 
money  and  feed. 

Evening  found  him  at  Tarrytown.  He  was  standing 
in  the  old  burying  ground,  looking  down  and  laughing 
at  the  quaint  little  church  and  the  bridge  beyond,  where 
Ichabod  Crane  had  his  immortal  encounter  with  the 
Headless  Horseman,  when  a  thunderstorm  that  had 
been  threatening  for  an  hour  suddenly  broke  in  a  deluge. 
He  looked  around  for  the  nearest  cover  and  spied  the 
deep  embrasure  of  the  entrance  to  a  vault.  He  crawled 


„  JOHN   BOGARDUS  105 

in  and  with  his  back  against  the  iron  door  looked  out 
upon  the  spectacle  of  the  storm. 

There  are  two  equal  measures  of  content,  a  cat  having 
her  fur  rubbed  the  right  way  and  a  man,  sitting  snug 
and  warm,  watching  a  rainfall.  John  was  more  tired 
than  he  knew  and  all  the  more  glad  of  a  rest.  He  ate 
his  last  sandwich  and  suddenly  dropped  off  to  sleep. 
When  he  awoke,  stars  were  blinking  in  at  him  from  a 
clear  sky  and  his  feet  felt  almost  frozen.  He  took  off 
his  coat,  wrapped  it  around  his  legs,  and  went  to  sleep 
again  to  awake  in  the  morning  to  a  sharp  hunger  and 
a  vague  feeling  of  disappointment  at  having  passed 
a  dreamless  night  in  such  propitious  surroundings. 
Never  again  would  he  read  with  a  thrill  the  tale  of 
Rip  van  Winkle. 

He  crawled  out  of  his  burrow,  stretched  till  his  bones 
cracked,  washed  his  face  and  head  in  water  from  a  rain- 
filled  urn,  and  then  turned  and  laughed  aloud  at  the 
morning  sun.  Down  the  slope  and  beyond  a  stone  wall 
he  saw  the  white  gleam  of  the  highway  under  trees. 
When  he  reached  it  he  stood  for  a  long  moment,  trying 
to  decide  which  way  to  turn.  On  one  hand  lay  New 
York,  enticing,  still  teeming  with  unsolved  riddles  and 
vague  promises  of  some  great  adventure;  on  the  other, 
the  placid  country  where  cool  breezes  dropped  to  rest  at 
night. 

Without  definite  volition,  John  turned  away  from  the 
city.  It  was  the  long  reach  of  the  road  that  drew  him. 
A  funny  thing  is  the  open  road.  Almost  every  man  has 
hit  it  once  in  his  life  and  the  ones  that  never  do,  stifle 
a  long  ache  in  their  hearts.  But  as  John  plunged 


106  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

along,  keeping  step  with  the  surge  of  the  morning  blood 
in  his  veins,  his  mind  was  not  absorbed  by  ponderings 
as  to  whither  his  steps  and  his  new  freedom  were  taking 
him  —  it  was  entirely  given  up  to  a  pre-vision  of  ham 
and  eggs. 

During  the  days  that  followed  he  had  long  hours  of 
solitude  during  which  he  might  have  put  the  house  of 
his  life  in  order  had  not  his  youth  constantly  stepped 
between  his  two  selves,  the  self  trained  to  manhood  and 
erudition  by  Captain  Ike  and  the  professor,  and  the 
self  that  was  a  young  colt  bolting  with  the  bit  between 
his  teeth. 

Whenever  he  tried  to  lay  sober  plans  for  his  future 
something  invariably  turned  up  to  send  his  thoughts 
a-winging;  a  burst  of  meadow  in  bloom,  freckled  chil- 
dren at  play,  new  smells  familiar  by  inheritance,  leafy 
alleys  tunneled  through  the  second-growth  forests  of 
New  England  and  murmuring  eternally  with  the 
purling  song  of  some  hidden  brook.  How  could  one 
dwell  on  the  future  in  the  midst  of  a  blessed  present  ? 

But  most  distracting  of  all  were  two  emotions  that 
frequently  assailed  him,  utterly  divergent  in  their 
sources:  the  empty  feeling  in  the  hand  that  once  had 
held  the  soft  little  fingers  of  Janice  through  many  a 
jaunt;  and  the  poignant  aching  that  came  to  his  heart 
on  those  occasions  when  from  some  rise  his  gaze  fell  on 
beckoning  trees  on  the  edge  of  vision  silhouetted  against 
an  evening  sky.  The  sadness  that  he  felt  at  memories 
of  Janice  was  simply  explained.  It  was  the  longing  we 
all  feel  for  some  dear  heart  to  share  a  thing  of  beauty. 
He  did  not  know  why  trees  beckoning  on  a  far  horizon 


„  JOHN   BOGARDUS  107 

filled  his  heart  with  yearning  and  brought  a  lump  to  his 
throat  for  youth  no  less  than  old  age  answers  blindly 
the  call  of  beyond. 

Sleeping  where  night  found  him,  living  on  the  coun- 
try, supplementing  his  slender  purse  by  half  a  day's 
work  now  and  then,  John  waxed  strong  and  lost  track 
of  time  until  one  morning  a  mere  impulse  of  haste  made 
him  jump  a  freight  on  a  little  railway  that  wandered 
absent-mindedly  down  a  valley.  He  made  friends  with 
the  crew  who  seemed  ready  to  welcome  any  company, 
but  when  the  line  came  to  a  sudden  end  in  a  small  man- 
ufacturing town,  he  felt  strangely  depressed. 

He  had  started  out  that  morning  in  the  very  best  of 
spirits  and  now  he  realized  that  they  had  been  sinking 
for  hours.  As  he  puzzled  over  the  reason  he  remem- 
bered a  saying  of  one  of  his  first  teachers,  "  No  man  can 
look  up  and  think  of  vile  things."  John  smiled  sud- 
denly. "  I  have  been  traveling  down  a  valley,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  I  don't  believe  a  man  can  travel  down  a 
valley  without  a  sinking  of  the  heart." 

He  turned  his  face  and  his  steps  toward  the  hills. 
All  afternoon  he  climbed  till  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  falling  in  a  long  shaft  of  light  between  two 
forested  peaks,  led  his  eyes  to  a  far  sheet  of  shimmering 
water.  He  caught  his  breath  with  a  jerk,  half  gasp, 
half  sigh.  Is  there  anything  more  beautiful,  he  won- 
dered, than  blue  water  amid  crowding  wooded  hills? 
He  climbed  the  bank  at  the  roadside,  settled  comfort- 
ably against  the  slanting  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  fastened 
his  eyes  on  that  distant  mirror  of  the  quiet  heavens.  It 
stilled  him,  made  him  drowsy,  put  him  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BY  noon  of  the  next  day  John  reached  the  lake,  or, 
at  least,  thought  he  had  reached  it.  For  a  long 
time  the  road  skirted  just  within  glimpses  of  the  water, 
winding  along,  damp  and  odorous  beneath  overhanging 
trees,  as  though  it  were  looking  in  vain  for  a  way  down 
to  the  shore.  Through  little  vistas  that  tunneled 
through  the  foliage  the  lake  would  occasionally  flash  a 
quick  look,  as  suddenly  veiled  again. 

John  grew  impatient.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  lake 
was  deliberately  flirting  with  the  road,  and  he  was  just 
about  to  plunge  his  way  down  through  the  scrub  when 
the  road  made  a  sudden  gesture  to  the  right,  as  though  it 
said,  "  There  you  are,"  and  then  bent  back  and  resumed 
its  wandering  way.  But  John  followed  no  longer;  he 
stood  still  and  gazed  down  a  hall  in  the  woods  that  was 
like  the  nave  of  a  church.  Straight,  towering  pines 
held  up  a  roof  so  thick  that  no  underbrush  grew  beneath 
it.  From  where  he  stood,  to  the  very  edge  of  the  water 
and  the  sunlight,  stretched  a  glimmering  brown  carpet 
of  pine  needles. 

John  started  to  run  down  the  slope  and  immediately 
regretted  it.  His  feet  could  find  no  purchase  on  the 
slippery  floor,  and  rather  than  slide  into  mud,  sharp 
rocks,  and  water,  he  deliberately  sat  down  with  a  ter- 
rific bump  and,  digging  in  his  heels,  came  to  a  slither- 
ing stop.  He  laughed  aloud  at  himself,  only  to  feel 

108 


,  JOHN   BOGARDUS  109 

rebuked  by  the  dignified  silence  that  answered  him. 
There  was  not  even  an  echo. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  still  and  looked  around.  Scat- 
tered among  the  pines  were  gray-old  wooden  benches 
and  tables ;  just  before  him,  as  though  standing  on  stilts 
in  the  water,  was  a  ramshackle  boathouse,  and  to  one 
side  of  that  half  a  dozen  small  boats  rode  heavily  at 
anchor,  weighted  down  by  unbailed  bilge  water.  Evi- 
dently an  old  picnic  ground,  such  as  a  countryside  is 
wont  to  use  but  once  a  year  to  celebrate  the  glorious 
Fourth. 

The  door  of  the  boathouse  was  ajar.  John  made  his 
way  in  along  a  rotten  plank  and  found  that  half  of 
the  single  room  was  floored.  Above  the  flooring  were 
shelves  piled  with  neglected  gear  and  a  rack  with  oars. 
The  cool  shadows  of  the  place  made  him  realize  that  he 
himself  was  extremely  hot  and  dusty.  He  took  off  his 
clothes  and  slipped  into  the  water. 

It  was  like  dropping  into  an  ice-cooler.  With  chat- 
tering teeth  he  swam  quickly  out  into  the  sun.  Soon 
the  feeling  of  chill  left  him ;  he  felt  the  blood  beginning 
to  sing  in  his  veins.  The  water  swirled  around  his 
limbs  with  a  caress  that  carried  recollection  back  and 
back  to  before  Melbourne,  Durban,  Captain  Ike,  and 
even  Europe,  back  to  naked  boyhood's  swimming-hole. 
He  laughed  and  swallowed  some  of  the  cold  lake  water, 
dog-paddled,  pretended  he  was  drowning,  and  proved  in 
various  ways  that  he  was  young,  young! 

With  that  cry  still  ringing  in  his  heart  he  turned  to 
swim  back  to  the  boathouse.  As  he  drew  near  he  was 
conscious  that  a  change  had  come  to  the  landscape. 


110  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

The  quiet,  softly  accentuated  by  faintly  lapping  water, 
the  deep  nave  of  the  pines,  the  sharp  outlines  of  sun- 
shine and  shadow,  were  still  there,  but  no  longer  spread 
flat  upon  the  world.  Now  they  were  drawn  in  upon  a 
single  point  of  light,  upon  the  slim  white  figure  of  a 
girl  who,  standing  anywhere,  would  become  the  center 
of  a  picture. 

John  wondered  if  he  had  been  noticed.  He  swam 
stealthily  under  the  boathouse  and  while  still  in  the 
water,  softly  closed  the  door.  Then  he  climbed  to  the 
half  floor  and  dressed  as  rapidly  as  his  wet  skin  and  the 
semi-darkness  would  let  him.  He  opened  the  door 
slowly  and  stepped  out.  The  whole  world  was  silent, 
flat,  empty. 

Like  one  who  wakes  from  a  fascinating  dream  to  find 
his  mind  an  impotent  blank,  John  felt  cheated.  He 
hurried  ashore  and  up  through  the  pines,  peering  right 
and  left  in  vain.  There  was  no  telltale  swaying  of 
bushes,  no  track  of  small  feet  on  the  smooth  carpet  of 
pine  needles.  In  a  semi-clearing  he  saw  the  pale  green 
of  the  leaves  of  berry  bushes  and,  as  he  drew  nearer,  he 
caught  the  glint  of  the  sun  on  the  fruit  itself.  He  felt 
suddenly  hungry  and  for  an  hour  ate  blackberries  by 
the  handful,  his  thoughts  meantime  running  on  the  girl. 

Had  he  really  seen  her  ?  What  would  he  have  done 
if  she  had  stayed?  Spoken  to  her  and  frightened  her 
out  of  her  wits?  For  the  third  time  that  day  he 
laughed  at  himself  and  then  went  back  to  the  boathouse 
and  started  to  put  it  in  order. 

He  sorted  out  the  tangled  gear,  arranged  the  oars  in 
pairs,  found  a  fishing  line  that  was  sound  in  parts  and 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  111 

two  rusty  hooks.  He  also  unearthed  a  strip  of  carpet 
and  three  moldy  cushions  that  were  as  distantly  allied 
to  some  lake  idyl  as  the  stale  smell  of  tobacco  to  a  virgin 
cigar.  He  carried  them  out  and  laid  them  in  the  sun  to 
air,  then  he  drew  in  one  of  the  boats,  bailed  it  out,  and, 
having  supplied  himself  with  half  a  do/en  grubs  and 
worms,  went  fishing. 

By  late  afternoon  he  had  caught  three  small  perch  and 
an  unwary  black  bass  and  was  pulling  slowly  for  the 
boathouse,  trying  vainly  to  remember  what  Robinson 
Crusoe  had  done  for  salt.  As  the  boat  ran  its  nose  on 
the  shelving  shore  a  voice  remarked  grimly,  "  Quarter 
of  a  dollar,  please." 

John  turned  with  a  start  and  beheld  a  short  figure  of 
large  girth  at  the  waist,  a  girth  that  diminished  rapidly 
up  and  down,  so  that  the  stranger  gave  the  impression 
of  an  egg  stood  on  end.  John's  first  impulse  was  to 
jump  ashore,  push  it  over,  and  see  it  roll,  but  something 
in  the  set  of  the  grim  face  made  him  hesitate.  How- 
ever, he  was  still  smiling  at  his  fancy  when  he  stepped 
off  the  boat,  his  four  fish  strung  on  a  bit  of  string. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  need  a  boatman  ? "  he  asked 
pleasantly. 

"  Don't  need  nothin',"  snapped  the  stranger,  "  only 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar." 

"  Lucky  man,"  said  John,  digging  out  a  quarter,  to 
the  stranger's  visible  surprise,  and  handing  it  over. 

"  Did  n't  think  you  had  it  on  ye,"  said  the  barrel-like 
man,  a  little  sheepishly. 

"  Who  are  you,  anyway,"  asked  John,  "  and  how  do 
I  know  those  boats  are  yours  ? " 


112  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

"  I  'm  Fanner  Tupper,"  said  the  stranger,  "  an' 
them 's  my  boats,  all  right.  If  ye  don't  credit  it  take 
back  your  money  an'  I  '11  hev  ye  'rested.  Long  time 
now  sence  I  've  hed  a  chance  to  'rest  anybody." 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  John,  smiling.  "  Would  you  like 
some  of  my  fish  ?  " 

"  Naw,"  said  Mr.  Tupper.     "  Don't  eat  'em." 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  said  John,  "  because  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  for  some  salt.  I  've  got  to  get  some  salt !  " 

"Waal,  why  don't  you  buy  some?  You  got  legs 
an'  there 's  the  road." 

John  shook  his  head.     "  No  money  now,"  he  said. 

"  You  on  the  bum  ?  "  asked  the  farmer. 

John  nodded.  "  And  besides,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  '11 
stay  here  for  a  while  and  put  your  boats  in  shape.  If 
you  '11  take  a  look  into  your  dirty  old  boathouse  per- 
haps you  '11  feel  like  giving  me  back  that  quarter." 

"  No  money  in  the  boats  now,"  said  the  farmer, 
gloomily.  "  You  c'n  play  with  'em  if  you  like.  Come 
on  up  to  the  house.  I  '11  give  ye  some  salt." 

Together  they  trudged  up  through  the  pines  and 
along  the  dusty  road  that  John  had  refused  to  follow 
farther,  until  they  came  to  a  lane  that  led  to  the  right 
and  up  to  a  large  farmhouse  squatted  upon  the  top  of  a 
mounded  hill.  The  house  overlooked  the  part  of  the 
lake  where  John  had  been  fishing.  The  farmer  led  the 
way  to  the  kitchen  door  and  called  out  to  some  one 
within,  "  Elizabeth,  give  this  young  feller  a  handful  o' 
salt." 

With  a  jerk  of  his  head  for  farewell  he  trudged  off 
in  the  direction  of  a  big  barn.  John  stood  and  waited, 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  113 

feeling  a  slight  thrill  of  anticipation.  Would  a  slim 
figure  in  white  answer  to  the  name  of  Elizabeth?  A 
large  comely  woman,  aproned  and  wearing  glasses,  ap- 
peared behind  the  screen  door  and  stared  at  him.  In 
her  left  hand  she  carried  a  bit  of  a  newspaper  with  a 
small  heap  of  salt  on  it.  She  opened  the  door  half  a 
foot  and  held  out  the  salt.  "  Goin'  to  catch  birdies  ?  " 
she  asked  solemnly. 

John  looked  puzzled  and  dazed  for  a  moment,  then  he 
laughed  suddenly.  A  small  smile,  too  small  for  her 
broad  face,  lit  up  the  features  of  the  woman,  but  quickly 
passed,  leaving  her  as  solemn  as  before.  "  No,"  said 
John.  "  Fish.  I  Ve  caught  some,  now  I  want  to  cook 
them." 

"  You  hungry  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Always !  "  said  John  with  a  grin. 

"  You  wait,"  said  the  woman  and  disappeared.  A 
moment  later  she  came  back  and  handed  out  to  him  a 
half  loaf  of  homemade  bread  and  a  small  tin  pail  of 
milk.  "  You  bring  back  the  pail." 

With  the  salt  wrapped  up  and  stuck  in  his  pocket,  the 
bread  tucked  under  one  arm,  and  the  pail  dangling  from 
his  finger,  John  tipped  his  hat  and  turned  to  saunter 
down  the  hill.  He  looked  about  him  as  he  went  and 
saw  that  he  was  on  no  dilapidated  farm.  The  barn,  the 
house,  and  the  fields  were  as  sleek  as  a  well-groomed 
horse,  and  in  a  hollow  gleamed  long  beds  of  carefully 
tended  garden  truck. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  boathouse  it  took  him  well 
into  the  twilight  to  clean  his  fish,  broil  them,  and  eat 
them,  accompanied  by  a  large  slice  of  the  homemade 


114  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

bread  and  a  long  draft  from  the  fresh  milk  in  the  pail. 
Feeling  absurdly  content  after  the  simple  fare  he  sat 
and  smoked  his  pipe  till  he  felt  drowsy ;  then  he  made  a 
bed  in  the  boathouse  of  the  strip  of  carpet  and  the 
cushions,  and  without  remembering  that  he  had  lain 
down  awoke  to  the  surprising  fact  of  an  entirely  new 
morning  sun  shining  through  the  cracks  in  the  wall  in 
long  dusty  bars  of  gold. 

He  sprang  up  with  a  vague  sense  of  a  duty  to  be  done, 
but  just  at  first  he  could  not  remember  what  it  was. 
Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  pail  of  milk  which  he  had 
hung  in  the  water  to  keep  cool.  That  was  it ;  he  must 
return  the  pail.  In  great  haste  he  picked  some  berries, 
crushed  them  between  two  slices  of  bread,  and  washed 
the  sandwich  down  with  what  was  left  of  the  milk. 
Then  he  scalded  the  pail  with  boiling  water  and  washed 
it  with  sand  and  ashes  till  it  shone.  Propping  it,  bot- 
tom half  up  between  two  stones,  he  took  a  razor  and  a 
bit  of  soap  from  his  pocket  and  had  his  first  shave  in 
three  days,  after  which  he  stripped  and  bathed. 

Feeling  like  a  new  man  but  still  hungry,  he  walked 
up  to  the  farmhouse.  Just  as  he  was  approaching  the 
kitchen  door  Farmer  Tupper's  voice  hailed  him  from 
the  barnyard.  "  Hi,  you !  Come  here !  " 

He  put  down  the  pail  and  hurried  to  where  the  tubby 
farmer  was  sitting  on  the  top  rail  of  the  yard  fence, 
glaring  at  a  young  Jersey  cow  that  glared  back  and 
made  jerky  motions  with  her  horns,  while  she  plowed 
up  the  dung  in  the  yard  with  her  forefeet.  Behind  her 
staggered  an  absurd,  newborn  calf  on  stilt-like,  knock- 
kneed  legs. 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  115 

"  Does  she  think  she 's  a  bull  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Naw,"  said  the  farmer.  "  She  thinks  she 's  the 
first  cow  that  ever  had  a  calf.  I  want  you  should  hold 
her  while  I  strip  the  milk  from  her." 

"  Thanks,"  said  John,  turn  ing  pale.  "  [Who 's  going 
to  bell  the  cat  2  " 

"  What?  "  said  Farmer  Tupper. 

"  Who 's  going  to  put  the  halter  on  her  ?  "  explained 
John. 

"  Halter !  "  said  the  farmer,  spitting  at  a  passing 
bumble-bee  and  hitting  it.  "  It  ain't  a  mule ;  it 's  a  cow 
an7  a  small  cow  at  that.  I  ain't  goin'  to  frighten  the 
life  out  o'  her  with  ropes  and  things.  Don't  ye  know 
how  to  hold  a  cow  ?  " 

" No"  said  John,  promptly. 

"  Well,  I  '11  show  ye !  "  said  Farmer  Tupper  with 
sudden  decision,  and  let  his  bulk  down  so  lightly  and 
stepped  so  mincingly  across  the  yard  that  John  thought 
to  see  him  bounce  into  the  air  at  any  moment  and  stay 
suspended,  floating  like  a  balloon. 

The  farmer  approached  the  cow  gently  with  soothing 
words  and  then  suddenly  seized  her  horns,  bumped  up 
against  her  shoulder,  and  twisted  her  neck  around  his 
middle,  all  with  astounding  celerity.  "  There  you 
are !  "  he  puffed.  "  Come  on,  unless  you  want  to  do 
the  milkin'." 

John  drew  near  slowly. 

"  She  won't  bite  ye,"  said  the  farmer,  testily. 
"  Hold  her  jest  so  with  her  neck  twisted  around  your 
middle." 

John  took  hold  with  a  mighty  grip  and  slipped  into 


116  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

the  farmer's  place.  Soon  he  found  to  his  vast  relief 
that  as  long  as  he  kept  that  twist  in  the  cow's  neck  the 
slightest  pressure  was  enough  to  control  her.  Before  he 
knew  it  Farmer  Tupper  had  stripped  the  udder  and  was 
making  for  the  fence. 

"Better  run  when  you  let  go  of  her,"  he  remarked 
over  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JOHN  cleared  the  fence  just  before  the  cow  reached 
it  and,  a  little  breathless,  joined  Mr.  Tupper,  who 
was  walking  toward  the  house. 

"Puffin',  are  ye?"  said  the  farmer.  "That's  the 
worst  o'  you  city  fellers.  Ye  jest  give  one  look  at  work 
and  it  takes  your  breath  away." 

John  had  expected  praise  and  the  arraignment  he  got 
instead,  roused  his  ire.  "  You  don't  know  what  you  're 
talking  about,"  he  said.  "  All  the  statistics  are  against 
you.  Any  army  drill  sergeant  can  tell  you  that  a 
bunch  of  city  clerks  will  make  fresh  farm  hands  look 
like  mush  when  it  comes  to  endurance.  I  '11  —  I  '11  bet 
you  a  week's  keep  I  can  put  it  all  over  any  farm 
hand  you  Ve  got." 

Mr.  Tupper  gave  him  a  side-glance.  "  I  '11  bet  ye 
can't,"  he  remarked  grimly. 

Elizabeth,  or  Mrs.  Tupper,  as  John  now  learned  her 
to  be,  had  picked  up  the  tin  pail  which  he  had  laid  on 
the  kitchen  step  when  he  was  called  away  to  hold  the 
cow.  As  he  and  the  farmer  came  up  she  was  smelling 
its  inside  with  evident  approval.  "  You  c'n  have  some 
more  milk  whenever  you  like,  young  feller,"  she  said. 

"  He  don't  want  his  suckin'  bottle  to-day,"  remarked 
Mr.  Tupper.  "  He 's  a  farm  hand." 

He  led  John  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  to  a  field  where 

three  men  were  just  starting  to  get  in  the  first  of  the 

117 


118  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

hay  crop  and  put  him  to  raking  up  after  the  wagon. 
John  took  off  his  coat  and  fell  to  with  a  will,  while  Mr. 
Tupper,  chewing  on  a  straw,  loitered  from  one  worker 
to  another  and  with  a  wink  and  a  nod  of  his  head  re- 
marked in  a  tone  of  great  admiration,  "  Young  city 
feller!" 

Raking  up  after  the  wagon  is  commonly  called  a  boy's 
job.  Like  many  another  task  it  Ja  a  boy's  job  because 
nobody  but  a  slave  under  the  whip  can  be  made  to  stick 
to  it.  It  has  but  one  advantage  over  the  varied  labors 
of  forking  up  the  hay  mows,  packing  the  wagon,  and 
clucking  "  Gee-up  "  to  the  team,  and  that  is  its  eventual 
automatism. 

For  the  first  half  hour  John  enjoyed  the  work  and 
the  friendly  jibes  of  his  co-laborers;  at  the  end  of  the 
next  half  hour  he  began  listening  intently  for  the  dinner 
bell.  He  stole  a  quick  glance  at  the  cheap  watch  he 
carried,  thought  it  had  stopped,  found  it  had  n't,  and 
decided  it  lied.  Eight  o'clock!  and  the  sun  was  high 
and  blazing  as  it  is  supposed  to  do  only  in  the  most 
realistic  tales  of  the  tropics ! 

He  caught  a  smile  on  the  face  of  one  of  the  farm 
hands,  saw  a  nodded  signal  go  the  rounds,  and  five 
minutes  later  realized  that  he  was  being  systematically 
speeded  up  to  his  downfall.  He  gritted  his  teeth  and 
set  to  work  again.  Two  could  play  at  that  game. 
Within  the  hour  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  shouting, 
"  Move  up,  will  you  ?  Or  tell  me  how  to  rake  ahead  of 
the  wagon !  " 

His  voice  was  thick  from  dust,  his  eyes  ached  in  their 
sockets,  and  the  band  of  his  hat  was  a  rim  of  fire,  but 


JOHX   BOGAKDUS  119 

it 

it  was  like  a  tonic  to  hear  a  grunt  from  Farmer  Tupper 
in  the  rear.  "  The  young  feller  'a  right,"  he  remarked. 
"  Even  a  hearse  oughter  keep  ahead  of  the  funeral." 

The  men  laughed  in  nervous  cackles,  hut  their  dry 
lips  closed  quickly  and  their  faces  grew  set.  Nobody, 
not  even  Mr.  Tupper,  who  rarely  took  a  hand  and  had 
been  twice  to  the  barley-water  pail  to  everybody  else's 
once,  looked  as  if  he  thought  a  joke  was  on. 

John's  first  jibe  was  his  last.  When  he  had  shouted 
it  his  whole  body  was  on  the  rack,  the  rake  handle  had 
long  since  burst  his  blisters  and  was  eating  its  way  into 
the  raw  flesh  of  his  hands,  and  his  head  was  throbbing 
mercilessly  under  the  blows  of  his  pulse.  Then,  quite 
suddenly,  he  passed  the  bourne  of  sensation.  His  will 
fell  asleep  but  he  worked  on  in  a  trance,  a  nightmare  of 
labor  that  just  went  on  and  on  under  the  impetus  of 
three  hours  of  the  same  monotonous  motion. 

At  long  last  the  dinner  bell  clanged  in  the  distance ; 
the  noon  hour  had  come.  The  men  did  not  immediately 
throw  down  their  forks.  They  held  to  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, making  spasmodic  movements  in  a  desperate 
effort  to  seem  unconcerned.  Then  they  drove  them  all 
into  a  single  mow,  like  arms  stacked  on  the  field  of 
battle.  John,  his  limbs  trembling  as  with  the  ague,  laid 
his  rake  beside  the  forks.  One  of  the  men  on  the  wagon 
reached  down  to  grasp  the  reins.  The  horses,  feeling 
his  movement,  started  for  the  barn.  The  wain  creaked 
under  the  heaviest  and  hardest  packed  load  it  had  ever 
carried. 

"  Come  along  up  to  dinner,"  said  Mr.  Tupper  to 
John.  "  We  don't  start  agin  f er  an  hour." 


120  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

With  a  desperate  effort  John  smiled  and  said,  "  No, 
thanks.  I  hardly  feel  hungry  yet."  Trying  to  keep 
his  legs  from  staggering,  he  made  for  the  fence  and  the 
road.  He  gave  a  gasp  of  relief  when  at  last  he  plunged 
into  the  cool  shadow  of  the  pines  and  snatched  off  his 
hat.  To  his  dismay  the  circle  of  fire  was  still  there, 
eating  into  his  temples.  Twice  he  felt  his  head  to  make 
sure  the  band  of  the  hat  had  not  come  out  and  stuck  to 
it.  He  stumbled  into  the  boathouse  and  fell  full  length 
on  his  strip  of  carpet.  For  half  an  hour  he  was  deathly 
sick. 

When  he  was  well  enough  to  think  he  lay  on  his  back 
and  murmured  at  intervals,  "  Beaten,  by  jiminy !  beaten 
to  a  frazzle !  " 

He  was  still  awake,  demanding  of  the  gods  if  sleep 
would  ever  again  come  to  his  burning  eyeballs,  when  a 
vision  in  white  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  stared  at 
it,  wondering  if  this  was  some  new  element  of  torture. 
Then  it  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  a  little  breathless  but 
musical  even  in  its  gasps.  "  They  sent  me  down  to  — 
to  tell  you  that  you  need  n't  come  back  this  afternoon. 
The  men  are  done  up.  They  all  seem  to  —  to  have  the 
—  the  colic." 

John  laughed  hoarsely,  a  laugh  that  sounded  like  the 
opening  of  a  rusty  gate.  The  girl  turned  away,  paused, 
and  came  back  into  the  frame  of  light.  "  It 's  so  —  so 
dark  in  there  I  can't  be  sure  but  I  think  you  're  fishing. 
I'll  — I '11  tell  them." 

She  was  gone.  John  raised  himself  on  one  elbow 
and  craned  his  neck.  He  caught  two  glimpses  of  her, 
swaying  swiftly  up  through  the  pines  toward  the  road. 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  121 

if 

Presently,  with  a  smile  twitching  lazily  at  his  lips,  he 
went  to  sleep. 

Half  an  hour  before  sunset  Mr.  Tupper  appeared  in 
person  to  verify  report.  True  enough,  he  found  John 
fishing. 

"  What  you  been  doin'  all  afternoon  ?  "  he  asked  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  "  a  lot  of  things.  I  Ve  had  a 
swim  and  a  nap  and  fished —  Just  killing  time." 
Then,  with  much  concern  in  his  voice,  he  asked,  "  Are 
the  men  feeling  better,  Mr.  Tupper  ?  " 

The  farmer  grunted  noncommittally.  "  Hottest  day 
we  've  had  in  years,"  he  grumbled,  and  added  gloomily, 
"  Reckon  I  got  to  feed  ye  for  a  week." 

John  nodded.  "  Do  you  want  to  back  any  farm  hand 
to  eat  more  than  I  can  ? "  he  asked  cheerfully. 

"  No"  said  Mr.  Tupper,  "  an'  unless  you  're  fonder  'n 
I  am  o'  cold  vittles  you  '11  come  up  to  the  house  pretty 
quick." 

He  turned  and  started  up  the  slope.  John  moored 
his  boat  and  followed.  He  was  longing  to  ask  about  the 
vision  in  white  but  refrained.  The  call  of  the  supper 
bell  met  them  when  they  were  half  way  up  the  hill  and 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  kitchen  door  Mrs.  Tupper 
was  saying  the  things  that  housewives  invariably  say 
when  man  is  two  minutes  late  to  a  meal.  "  I  declare, 
them  biscuits  is  nigh  burnt  to  a  cinder  and  — " 

John  entered  the  room  alone.  His  eyes,  traveling 
rapidly  around,  saw  that  two  tables  were  set,  one  for  a 
possible  six  guests  and  the  other  for  a  possible  four. 
The  five  farm  hands  were  gathered  around  the  larger 


122  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

table  and  John  noticed  that  Mrs.  Tupper  was  watching 
him  a  little  nervously.  With  scarcely  any  hesitation  he 
took  the  one  remaining  chair  at  the  big  table  and 
grinned  genially  back  at  the  sheepish  grins  with  which 
the  three  men  who  had  been  at  the  haying  welcomed 
him. 

Mr.  Tupper  came  in,  moist  and  smelling  of  soap,  and 
beside  him  walked  John's  vision,  a  girl,  fresh  and  young 
and  lissome  but  not  quite  as  slim  as  he  had  dreamed  her 
to  be.  The  two  sat  down  at  the  smaller  table,  where 
Mrs.  Tupper  joined  them  as  soon  as  she  had  finished 
piling  food  hot  and  food  cold  in  enormous  quantities 
before  the  men  and  her  husband. 

As  on  John's  previous  first  meals  in  farmhouses, 
silence  —  conversational  silence  —  reigned  unbroken 
until  he  ventured  a  remark  that  echoed  back  on  itself 
from  the  bare  walls  of  the  kitchen.  No  one  seemed  sur- 
prised but  nobody  paid  any  heed.  John  opened  his 
mouth  again  and  closed  it.  He  knew  that  no  frontal 
attack  can  weld  a  split  company.  For  a  time  he  ate  as 
silent  as  the  rest,  his  mind  busy  with  trying  to  place 
the  girl. 

She  apparently  belonged  with  her  surroundings  and 
she  obviously  did  n't.  She  was  quite  at  home  but  there 
was  an  air  about  her  that  made  her  seem  foreign ;  some- 
thing in  the  way  she  was  dressed,  in  the  way  she  ate, 
in  the  way,  he  remembered,  that  she  talked.  John  stole 
several  glances  at  her  and  asked  himself  if  she  were 
pretty.  He  decided  that  she  was  not  and  then  she 
smiled  at  nothing  in  particular  and  he  decided  that  she 
was.  "  Summer  boarder,"  he  was  saying  to  himself, 


JOHN    BOGAKDUS  123 

tf 

when  one  of  the  farm  hands  spoke  to  his  neighbor  in  a 
solemn,  almost  inaudible,  mumble. 

So  that  was  the  etiquette,  thought  John,  and  began 
mumbling  solemnly  to  the  man  next  to  him.  He  was 
an  old  man.  At  first,  John's  attentions  made  him 
nervous,  so  nervous  that  he  stopped  filling  his  mouth 
chock  full  at  every  bite,  for  when  people  are  nervous 
they  breathe  so  hard  that  the  normal  channel  for  get- 
ting wind  into  the  lungs  falls  below  capacity.  But  soon 
the  old  man's  attention  was  arrested,  then  seized.  He 
forgot  to  be  nervous;  he  almost  forgot  to  eat.  Pres- 
ently he  spluttered,  stomped  his  feet,  and  suddenly  burst 
into  a  loud  guffaw.  He  got  up  from  the  table  and  left 
the  room,  his  gray  head  wobbling  from  side  to  side. 
John  saw  a  sort  of  pained  curiosity  dawn  in  the  faces 
about  him.  Mrs.  Tupper  especially  looked  as  though 
she  felt  she  had  missed  something. 

"  Funny  old  man,"  he  said  gravely  to  the  company  in 
general.  "  Does  he  often  act  like  that  ?  " 

One  by  one,  as  they  finished,  the  farm  hands  got  up 
and  left  the  room.  From  somewhere  outside  floated 
back  a  murmuring  voice  and  a  subsequent  guffaw  for 
each  new  arrival.  At  last  John  sat  alone  at  his  table. 
He  was  almost  bursting  with  food  but  he  continued  to 
eat  steadily,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  plate.  He  felt  that 
he  was  being  watched. 

Farmer  Tupper  had  been  picking  his  teeth  for  some 
time.  He  removed  the  toothpick  to  say  to  his  wife, 
"  Elizabeth,  I  owe  this  young  feller  a  week's  keep. 
Better  get  in  an  extry  barrel  o'  flour  to-morrer  an'  we  '11 
hev  to  cut  the  skimmed  milk  off  from  the  pigs  for  a 


124  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

while.     They  c'n  grub  instead  in  the  old  orchard — " 

"Ain't  you  'shamed!  Mr.  Tupper,"  interrupted 
Elizabeth.  "  Jest  because  you  'n'  your  help  be  too  puny 
to  eat  solid  enough  to  stand  up  to  more  'n  half  a  day's 
work  at  a  time  you  object  to  seein'  a  man  staunchin'  his 
appetite.  Go  long  outa  here  an'  let  him  eat  in  peace." 

"  Call  me  in  the  mornin'  early,"  remarked  Mr.  Tup- 
per over  his  shoulder  as  he  left  the  room,  "  I  'd  like  to 
see  him  finish." 

As  the  screen  door  slapped  shut  behind  him,  John 
laid  down  his  knife  and  the  thickly  buttered  half  of  the 
last  hot  biscuit.  His  twinkling  eyes  met  the  twinkling 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Tupper.  They  were  friends. 

"  What  was  it  you  was  tellin'  old  Ben  to  make  him 
bust  out  like  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

John  looked  at  her  and  grinned.  "  If  it  was  some- 
thing I  could  tell  you,  he  would  n't  have  laughed,  would 
he?" 

The  twinkle  left  Mrs.  Tupper's  eyes.  "Well,"  she 
said  severely,  "  all  I  c'n  say  is  that  sence  you  can't 
behave  with  old  hands  like  Ben  you  '11  hev  to  eat  after 
this  with  me  'n'  Mr.  Tupper." 

"  And  —  ?  "  said  John  brazenly,  looking  straight  at 
the  girl. 

She  flashed  a  look  at  him,  turned  pink  to  the  tips  of 
her  ears,  and  said,  a  little  gaspingly,  "  I  'm  —  I  'm 
Joan.  Joan  Tupper." 


CHAPTEK  XV 

JOHN"  knew  better  than  to  hang  around  the  women 
folk.  He  went  out  and  joined  the  men  for  a 
while,  then,  lighting  a  fresh  pipe,  said  good  night  and 
started  down  the  hill.  As  he  passed  the  front  porch 
he  heard  the  rhythmic  squeak  of  a  rocking  chair  and  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye  caught  a  blur  of  white. 

"  Good  night,"  he  called,  "—  Joan." 

"  G-good  night,"  answered  the  girl. 

It  was  a  glorious  evening.  The  afterglow  of  day 
still  clung  to  the  sky  in  a  wide-flung  arch  of  dappled 
pink  as  though  it  were  striving  to  brand  night  itself 
with  the  blush  of  dawn.  John  felt  as  though  he  were 
walking  on  air ;  he  wanted  to  shout  but  the  vast  stillness 
of  the  high-roofed  world  restrained  him,  almost  rebuked 
him  for  the  impulse.  In  the  midst  of  the  nave  of  pines 
he  sat  down  and  for  an  hour  watched  day  die  from  the 
heavens  and  the  lake. 

The  next  morning  he  slept  late  and  by  the  time  he  had 
washed  his  clothes  and  bathed  while  they  dried,  the 
farmhouse  breakfast  hour  was  far  past.  He  caught  a 
single  fish,  broiled  it,  and  was  sucking  the  last  bone  dry 
when  a  feeling  came  over  him  that  he  was  being 
watched.  He  looked  up  to  see  Joan  standing  among 
the  pines,  swinging  an  empty  pail. 

"  Hello!  "  he  cried.     "  Good  morning!  " 

125 


126  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

"  Good  morning/'  she  called  in  answer,  starting  for- 
ward with  the  swift,  swaying  motion  that  seemed  to 
him,  like  her  talk,  a  bit  gaspy.  "  Why  —  why  did  n't 
you  come  to  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Sleeping,"  said  John. 

The  girl  nodded  gravely.  "  Father  said  it  was  either 
that  or  you  were  putting  twenty  miles  between  you  and 
the  memory  of  work." 

John  laughed.  "  Did  you  come  down  for  a  bucket  of 
water  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  girl.     "  Berries." 

"  That 's  a  big  pail,"  said  John.  "  I  '11  help  you  fill 
it  if  you  '11  lend  it  to  me  first." 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  I  '11  show  you,"  said  John.  He  scoured  the  bottom 
of  the  pail  with  sand  and  ashes  and  washed  it  clean,  then 
propped  it  up  and  with  his  back  to  the  girl  proceeded 
to  shave. 

She  sat  down  on  a  rock  and  watched  him,  at  first  in 
silence,  then,  "  I  can  see  your  face  in  the  bottom  of  the 
pail.  It 's  too  funny.  Now  it  looks  like  a  toothache  on 
one  side.  Now  it  looks  like  vinegar  or  —  or  choke- 
cherries.  Now  —  now  it  looks  as  if  you  were  hurting 
yourself.  Oh,  don't,  don't  open  your  mouth  like  that. 
It 's  —  it 's  the  way  old  Ben  used  to  play  idiot  and  — 
and  it  frightens  me !  " 

John  stopped  shaving,  laid  his  razor  down  carefully, 
and  picked  up  the  pail.  "  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  hold  it  out  to  the  girl.  "  Please  run  along  and 
play  —  out  of  sight." 

Joan  did  not  move.     She  was  sitting  with  her  knees 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  127 

hugged  in  her  arms.  "  Go  on  and  finish,"  she  said 
calmly.  "  I  won't  —  any  more.  I  was  just  doing  it 
because  it 's  su-supposed  to  be  such  a  —  a  splendid  test. 
I  've  never  had  a  chance  before." 

John  grinned.  "  Well,"  he  said,  resuming  opera- 
tions, "  you  certainly  got  a  rise.  Why  don't  you  try  it 
on  your  old  man  sometime  ?  " 

"  Father,"  said  Joan,  with  faint  emphasis,  "  goes 
ten  miles  for  a  shave  —  every  Saturday  afternoon. 
Did  n't  you  shave  yesterday  ?  " 

"Urn  — h'm,"  said  John. 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Joan.  "  I  must  n't  talk,  not  even 
to  ask  you  if  you  're  nearly  finished." 

"  Awmst,"  said  John,  good-naturedly. 

A  moment  later  he  rinsed  the  razor,  wiped  it  on  a 
leaf,  and  dried  it  on  his  trousers.  Then  he  put  it  away 
in  the  boathouse  with  what  was  left  of  his  soap,  washed 
his  face  free  of  suds,  and  got  his  hat. 

"  Now  for  the  berries,"  he  said  as  he  came  out  again. 

They  walked  side  by  side  to  the  tangled  clearing 
where  the  berries  grew  thickest  and  for  half  an  hour 
scarcely  spoke  a  word.  These  periods  of  silence  do  not 
come  to  the  exceptionally  young  through  content,  or 
complete  understanding,  nor  are  they  periods  of  mental 
rest.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  are  a  species  of  breath- 
less conversation  without  words,  silent  talk  punctuated 
with  side-glances,  blushes,  wandering  smiles,  an  occa- 
sional half  sigh  and  ending,  in  this  case,  with  a  sudden 
audible,  "Ouch!" 

"  Oh,  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  cried  John,  setting  down 
the  pail  and  pushing  an  intervening  bramble  aside. 


128  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

"I  —  I  've  pricked  my  finger,"  said  Joan,  holding 
out  her  hand  and  lifting  moist  eyes  to  John's  face  which 
was  absurdly  full  of  a  really  solemn  concern. 

"  You  poor  child,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his 
own  and  staring  at  the  tiny  drop  of  oozing  blood. 

His  own  hand  trembled.  He  felt  vaguely  that  he  was 
standing  at  an  emotional  verge,  then,  suddenly,  he  for- 
got that  he  had  been  feeling  very,  very  young.  The 
girl  and  her  smooth  little  hand  and  the  tiny  drop  of 
blood  became  a  man-sized  problem.  What  place  had 
this  delicate  and  grammatical  combination  in  a  cosmos 
of  barnyard,  farmhouse,  farm  hands,  and  the  coarse 
fiber  of  the  major  Tuppers? 

Still  holding  her  hand,  he  picked  up  the  pail,  led  her 
out  into  the  shade  of  the  pines,  and  made  her  sit  down 
on  a  great  flat  stone  near  the  lake.  Then  he  took  her 
handkerchief,  soaked  it  in  water,  and  bathed  away  the 
little  drop  of  blood. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Joan.  "  I  was  tired  of  picking 
berries.  Were  n't  you  ?  " 

John  stared  at  her,  a  puzzled  look  in  his  face,  wonder- 
ing if  she  meant  him  to  laugh,  but  she  stared  back  quite 
gravely. 

"  Were  n't  you  ?  "  she  repeated. 

John  nodded  his  head.  "  I  suppose  I  was,"  he  said, 
"only  I  hadn't  time  to  realize  it.  I  was  so  busy." 
Then  he  smiled.  "  That  sounds  funny,  does  n't  it  ? 
Well,  I  felt  busy,  anyhow !  " 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Joan,  and  they  both  laughed. 

From  a  spring  near  by  John  brought  a  bunch  of  cool 
watercresses  and  spread  it  over  the  berries.  Joan  had 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  129 

not  pricked  herself  until  the  pail  was  nearly  full.  Then 
he  threw  aside  his  coat  and  hat  and  stretched  himself 
full  length  beside  her.  "  Now"  he  said,  "  tell  me  what 
I  want  to  know.  Not  why  you  are  as  sweet  and  flushed 
as  a  briar  rose  but  where  you  learned  to  talk,  walk,  and 
keep  your  hands  so  small  and  smooth  and  — " 

"  And  clean  ?  "  asked  Joan,  holding  out  fingers  pink- 
tipped  and  pink-nailed  but  splotched  with  blackberry 
stains. 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  his  eyes  blind  to  the  stains. 

"  You  have  n't  been  around  very  much,  have  you  ?  " 
asked  Joan. 

"  Well,  not  just  around  here,"  said  John,  smiling  to 
himself  with  sudden  thoughts  of  the  wide  world. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  "  because  if  you  had  you 
would  n't  think  there  was  anything  extraordinary  about 
me.  Father  and  mother  are  like  lots  of  old  folks.- 
They  love  me.  I  've  been  away  to  school.  Some  day 
I  'm  to  go  to  college." 

John  wondered  if  schools  could  really  turn  out  Joans, 
not  singly  by  a  fluke  but  in  the  gross.  He  realized  that 
though  women  had  long  been  in  his  life  he  had  never 
yet  had  occasion  to  study  a  sizable  American  girl.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  gods  had  brought  an  extraor- 
dinarily fine  specimen  to  his  hand.  Here  was  Joan, 
probably  a  native  child  in  every  fiber  of  her  body, 
planted  in  that  small  section  of  New  England  which  had 
not  yet  been  invaded  by  the  alien  element  from  the 
north  nor  encroached  upon  by  the  swarming  immigrant 
hordes  that  even  at  that  date  had  transformed  the  opera- 
tive world  of  the  coast  towns.  She  was  evolution  in  a 


130  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

line  unbroken  by  a  graft.  He  gazed  up  at  her  until  the 
pink  in  her  cheeks  deepened  and  then,  reproving  him- 
self for  doing  anything  to  make  her  shy  under  the  micro- 
scope, turned  the  talk  on  himself. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  ask  about  me  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Joan. 

"  Well,  I  'm  rather  out  of  the  way  for  a  tramp  —  at 
least,  I  thought  I  was." 

"  But  you  're  not  a  tramp,"  said  Joan,  promptly. 
"  Did  you  really  think  you  were  mysterious  ?  The 
first  time  mother  laid  eyes  on  you  she  said,  '  There  's 
another  o'  them  college  boys  that  thinks  he  's  the  first 
that  ever  walked  cross-lots  from  Poughkeepsie  to  Dan- 
bury.'  " 

John  laughed  aloud.  "  And  I  thought  your  mother 
had  taken  a  liking  to  me !  " 

"  She  has,"  said  Joan.  "  She  likes  even  tramps. 
Mother  likes  almost  everybody." 

"  Thanks,"  said  John.  Then  his  thoughts  went  back 
to  Joan  and  school  and  from  there  to  girls'  schools  in 
general. 

"  I  went  to  a  girls'  school  once  for  dinner,"  he  said. 

"  You  ?  "  cried  Joan,  her  eyes  dancing.  "  How  — 
how  did  it  end  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  eight  years  old,"  said  John,  "  but  I  Ve 
never  forgotten  it.  My  mother  took  me.  It 's  the  only 
time  I  really  remember  my  mother.  I  can  see  the  lit- 
tle hat  she  wore,  her  funny  sleeves,  and  her  face.  She 
was  looking  very  young  that  day  because  at  the  school 
there  was  an  old  lady  that  kept  calling  her  '  Molly ' 
and  saying,  '  So  this  is  really  your  son,  Molly,  your 


JOHN    BOGARDUS  131 

own  boy ! '  And  mother  kept  saying,  yes,  she  was  sure 
of  it. 

"  Then  some  of  the  girls  came  and  took  me  away  to 
fuss  over  me.  They  were  n't  at  all  excited  over  mother. 
It  was  a  very  old  school  and  old  girls  came  back  to  visit 
often,  but  I  remember  they  thought  mother  must  be 
somebody  very  important  because  there  was  a  fine  smell 
of  something  roasting  and  it  was  n't  the  regular  day  for 
roast  beef.  They  got  quite  excited  over  that  and  one 
girl  clapped  her  hands,  grabbed  me,  kissed  me  and  said, 
'  Oh,  goodie ! ' 

"  Then,  just  as  it  was  time  for  the  dinner  bell  to  ring, 
there  was  a  terrible  cry  from  the  kitchen  and  chatter- 
ing voices  and  sobs  and  slamming  doors  and  an  awful 
hubbub  all  through  the  big  house.  A  very  sad  thing 
had  happened.  While  the  cook  was  out  getting  fire- 
wood Reginald  had  crawled  into  the  oven  and  when  she 
came  back  she  had  slammed  the  door  without  noticing 
him.  The  oven  had  warmed  up  slowly  and  Reginald 
had  peacefully  been  done  to  a  turn.  Reginald  was  the 
school  cat." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Joan,  her  eyes  suddenly  wide,  "  how 
—  how  awful !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  it  was  a  terrible  thing  to  happen. 
The  girl  that  had  kissed  me  and  said  '  goodie '  broke 
down  and  sobbed  out  that  she  could  never  forgive  her- 
self for  thinking  Reginald  was  roast  beef  and  that  she  'd 
never  eat  roast  beef  again.  Everybody  said  they 
could  n't  think  of  eating  anything  and  mother  led  me 
away  to  catch  an  earlier  train.  All  the  way  to  the  sta- 
tion she  was  saying,  l  Oh,  oh,  we  must  n't  laugh,  John, 


132  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

we  simply  must  n't.  It 's  so  sa-sad.'  But  she  kept  sort 
of  spluttering  for  a  long  time.  I  didn't  have  to  try 
not  to  laugh.  I  was  mighty  hungry." 

Joan  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Just  like  a  horrid  boy !  " 
she  cried.  She  turned  from  him  with  an  impatient 
gesture  and  he  saw  her  shoulders  trembling.  "  You 
have  told  me  a  horrible  story.  I  —  I  don't  like  you !  " 

Brushing  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  the  back  of 
her  hand  she  started  swiftly  up  through  the  pines. 
John  snatched  up  the  pail  of  berries  and  followed. 
When  he  caught  up  with  her  he  said,  "  I  'm  awfully 
sorry,  Joan.  I  'm  sorry." 

"  Don't  call  me  Joan,"  cried  the  girl.  "  You  have 
no  right  to  call  me  Joan.  You  —  you  did  it  last  night." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  said  John.  "  It  was  very  wrong. 
But  Joan  is  your  name  after  all  and  it 's  such  a  lovely 
name,  I  just  couldn't  help  saying  it  just  to  hear  it. 
If  you  really  don't  want  me  to  call  you  by  your  own 
name,  I  won't.  I  '11  call  you  Miss  Tupper.  Only 
every  time  I  do,  I  '11  have  to  shout  because  it  will 
make  you  seem  so  unfriendly  and  far  away,  Miss  — 
Miss  Tupper." 

Joan  gave  him  a  swift  side  glance.  "  You  're  not 
—  not  making  fun  of  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  fervently. 

"  Not  making  fun  of  my  name  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  !  "  cried  John. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  girl,  "  don't  call  me  Joan  too 
loud." 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

'  T  ^  THAT  are  you  goin'  to  do  this  afternoon,  young 
V  V  feller  ? "  asked  Mr.  Tupper  when  the  mid- 
day meal  was  over. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John.  "  Something  to  keep  my 
appetite  down,  out  of  fairness  to  you.  I  expect  I  '11 
go  fishing." 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  too,"  said  Joan. 

John's  mind  gave  a  hitch  and  paused,  as  one's  mind 
does  when  it  has  reason  to  expect  a  clash.  But  no  clash 
came.  Mrs.  Tupper  did  n't  say,  "  Why,  Joan !  "  the 
farm  help  scarcely  noticed,  and  all  Mr.  Tupper  said  was, 
"  Elizabeth,  better  give  him  the  alarm  clock  an'  set 
it  fer  half  an  hour  to  supper  time." 

That  was  a  long  lazy  afternoon  but  John  felt  that  if 
he  was  n't  learning  something  every  minute,  he  was  at 
least  trying  to.  He  thought  he  was  striving  to  make 
out  Joan  but  in  reality  he  was  only  playing  his  old 
unconscious  game  of  making  out  himself,  trying  to  fit 
himself  squarely  in  a  round  hole.  Joan  was  something 
new  in  his  experience.  She  seemed  foreign  even  to 
the  books  he  had  read.  He  stared  at  her  frankly  and 
watched  her  furtively,  but  she  seemed  to  hold  out  no 
clue  to  herself.  She  was  so  even,  so  complete,  that 

she  offered  no  hand  hold,  and  John  likened  himself  to 

133 


134  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

a  small  boy  with  a  hickory  nut  and  no  stone  in  sight 
to  break  it  with.  She  puzzled  him. 

"  You  've  been  to  school  a  lot,  have  n't  you  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Almost  always,"  said  Joan. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  John,  "  define  a  puzzle." 

"  A  puzzle  ?  "  said  the  girl,  puckering  her  brow. 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  put  a  puzzle  into  words." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  lazily.  "  This  is  vacation 
time.  Mother  doesn't  allow  me  to  work  in  summer." 

"Well,  that's  something  learned,"  said  John. 
"  There  is  n't  much  she  does  n't  allow  you,  is  there  ?  " 

The  girl  stared  at  him.  "  What  —  what  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

Something  in  the  innocence  of  her  face  reproached 
him.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  struck  her.  "  Nothing, 
nothing,"  he  said  hastily.  "  I  '11  define  a  puzzle  for  you 
myself.  A  puzzle  is  something  that  aggravates  and 
fascinates  at  the  same  time.  It  must  do  both  or  it  is  n't 
a  puzzle." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  keep  thinking  I  'm  a  puzzle," 
said  Joan. 

"  But  I  did  n't  say  you  were  a  puzzle,"  protested 
John. 

"  Did  n't  you  ?  "  asked  Joan.  She  trailed  her  hand 
in  the  water  and  then  held  it  up  and  watched  the  drops 
slip  off  her  fingers.  "  Drops  of  water  are  beautiful," 
she  said  drowsily.  "I  —  I  always  wish  I  could  put 
them  on  a  chain  —  a  very  thin  chain." 

With  his  strip  of  carpet  and  the  cushions  John  had 
made  a  couch  for  her  in  the  stern  of  the  boat.  They 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  135 

were  trolling  and  as  he  rowed  with  quiet  slow  strokes  of 
the  light  oars  he  looked  down  on  her.  She  was  very 
much  in  the  picture.  As  on  the  first  day  he  had  seen 
her,  she  was  the  picture.  The  rippling  water,  the  shad- 
ows on  the  lake,  the  swaying  boat,  the  dark  land,  and 
the  enfolding  sky  seemed  to  center  upon  her  small  per- 
son. 

To-day,  as  always,  she  was  dressed  in  white  and  her 
head  and  arms  were  bare.  He  liked  the  way  her  brown 
hair  was  fixed,  parted  with  a  swirl  just  to  the  left  of 
center  and  gathered  in  a  thick  roll  at  the  back  of  her 
neck.  It  seemed  more  than  anything  else  to  proclaim 
her  age,  just  halfway  between  child-  and  womanhood. 
In  her  lap  lay  an  old  Leghorn  hat,  banded  with  a  swath 
of  white  tulle.  With  one  hand  she  folded  its  broad 
brim  back  and  forth  while  her  gray  eyes,  fixed  intently 
on  the  shining  drops  of  water,  gradually  dimmed. 

Suddenly,  with  the  cuddling  motion  of  a  child,  she 
turned  half  on  her  side,  drew  her  hands  together  under 
her  chin,  and  went  to  sleep. 

John  rowed  on,  more  softly  than  ever.  He  guided 
the  boat  through  a  sea  of  lily-pads  and  blooms  into  the 
shade  of  overhanging  trees.  With  one  gunwale  pressed 
against  the  bank  he  drove  the  blade  of  an  oar  into  the 
mud  on  the  further  side  and  imprisoned  the  boat.  Then 
he  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  quite  still,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
sleeping  girl.  He  could  see  her  red  lips  parting  faintly 
to  each  breath.  Her  folded  hands  and  her  arms,  lying 
across  her  bosom,  rose  and  fell  steadily  but  very  softly, 
and  once  in  a  while  her  free  leg  would  give  the  slightest 
twitch  as  though  it  alone  remained  awake  and  had  half 


136  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

a  mind  to  protest  at  her  too  intimate  exposure.  All 
around,  the  white  water  lilies  lifted  erect  petals  as 
though  they  were  stretching  their  necks  to  look  upon 
her  too. 

Presently  John  turned  his  eyes  away,  and  then  his 
whole  body  pivoted  until  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  girl. 
A  flush  was  in  his  olive  cheeks.  Feeling  it  there,  he 
grew  angry  and  blew  great  puffs  from  his  pipe  as  though 
he  strove  to  bury  himself  in  a  fog  of  smoke.  His  blood 
raced  in  his  veins  and  time  kept  step  so  that  almost  be- 
fore he  knew  it  long  shadows  were  drawing  across  the 
lake.  He  had  filled  and  refilled  his  pipe  automatically 
till  now  it  was  so  hot  he  could  scarcely  hold  it.  He 
thrust  it  in  his  pocket  and  swung  around,  rocking  the 
boat  violently. 

The  girl  awoke  with  a  start.  Her  eyelids  fluttered, 
closed,  then  fluttered  wide,  and  she  laughed.  "  Why," 
she  gasped.  "  I  Ve  been  asleep." 

John  nodded,  took  in  the  lines,  and  got  the  boat  under 
way.  With  short  strong  strokes  he  drove  it  out  beyond 
the  point  of  land  that  had  sheltered  them.  Suddenly 
a  view  opened  to  his  eyes  that  he  had  never  seen  before. 
The  glimmering  water  stretched  away  and  away  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach. 

John  stopped  rowing.  "  Well,  I  '11  be  jiggered,"  he 
said.  "  Look  at  that !  " 

The  girl  turned  and  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  "  At 
what  ?  What  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Water !  "  said  John.  "  D'  you  know,  I  thought  this 
lake  of  yours  was  a  fish  pond,  a  sort  of  a  long  jump  for 
a  grasshopper." 


y  JOHN   BOGARDUS  137 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  girl.     "  It 's  quite  big." 

"How  big?" 

"  Miles." 

John  sighed  contentedly.     "  I  'm  happy,"  he  said. 

"Why?  "asked  the  girl. 

"  Because  I  've  got  something  to  do.  I  'm  going  to 
make  a  sail  and  step  a  mast  in  this  boat  and  then  — " 
He  waved  his  hand  at  the  reach  of  water. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  clapping  her  hands,  "  that  '11  be 
fine,  just  fine  I  When  —  when  can  we  go  ?  I  Ve  never 
been  once  in  a  sailboat !  " 

"Haven't  you?"  said  John,  pityingly.  "Well, 
don't  get  excited  yet.  It  '11  take  days  and  days.  I  Ve 
got  to  get  canvas  and  tools  and  ropes  and  things." 

The  girl  looked  disappointed,  then  her  face  bright- 
ened. "  Would  a  tarpaulin  do  ?  One  of  the  big  ones 
they  use  on  the  hay  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  would,"  said  John,  "  but  — " 

"But  what?" 

"  Who  's  going  to  knock  your  father  on  the  head  and 
take  it  ? " 

"  I  am,"  said  Joan,  promptly.  "  I  '11  get  everything ; 
the  canvas  and  the  old  flag  pole  we  never  use  and  all 
the  tools  in  the  woodshed.  Only,  you  mustn't  say  a 
word.  I  '11  get  something  else,  too.  I  '11  get  credit  for 
making  you  work  for  your  keep." 

The  next  morning  John  awoke  to  the  rattle  of  a 
spring  wagon  backing  down  to  his  front  door.  He 
peeped  out  and  beheld  the  egg-like  Mr.  Tupper  unload- 
ing a  long  spar,  a  huge  bundle  of  canvas  and  cords,  and 
a  tool  chest. 


138  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS 

He  slipped  on  his  coat  and  stepped  out.  "  I  appre- 
ciate this,  Mr.  Tupper,"  he  said.  "  Never  thought 
you  'd  come  down  to  drive  me  up  to  breakfast." 

Mr.  Tupper  glared  at  him  and  then  made  a  surpris- 
ingly quick  ascent  to  the  driver's  seat.  Before  John 
knew  what  he  was  up  to  he  had  laid  whip  to  the  horses. 
They  snorted  and  plunged  into  a  gallop. 

John  sprang  forward,  clutched  the  fast-receding  tail- 
board with  one  hand,  and  hung  on  for  dear  life.  He 
was  swept  off  his  feet,  his  heels  slithered  and  bounced 
over  the  pine-needle  floor,  but  he  would  not  let  go.  Mr. 
Tupper  gave  the  horses  another  clip  to  keep  them  going, 
calmly  climbed  over  the  seat,  and  unhooked  the  tail- 
board. Great  was  John's  fall. 

He  got  up,  bruised  and  shaken,  and  dusted  off  his 
clothes.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  then,  smiling 
grimly  at  the  way  he  had  been  had,  he  walked  slowly 
after  the  disappearing  wagon.  Just  around  the  bend  of 
the  road  he  came  upon  it,  waiting  for  him.  As  he 
silently  climbed  aboard  Mr.  Tupper  remarked,  "  You 
be  careful,  young  feller,  how  you  josh  a  fat  man.  Fat 
men  is  terrible  sudden  sometimes." 

"  You  're  a  wonder,"  said  John,  grinning.  "  But 
I  don't  believe  yet  you  can  really  jump.  I  think  you 
bounce." 

At  breakfast  Joan  ate  little  and  watched  each  mouth- 
ful that  John  took  as  though  she  were  calculating  how 
long  it  would  take  him  to  swallow  it.  The  moment  he 
finished  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  said,  "  Come  on. 
You  do  eat  a  lot." 

John  paused  long  enough  to  fill  his  pipe  and  then 


JOHN   BOGABDUS  139 

followed  her  toward  the  lake.  When  they  arrived  at 
the  boathouse  she  said,  "  Now  look  everything  over.  Is 
there  anything  you  need  that  is  n't  here,  because  if  there 
is  I  'm  going  back  to  get  it." 

"  No,"  said  John.  "  Nothing  missing."  He  took 
off  his  coat,  laid  aside  his  pipe,  and  went  to  work.  Two 
days  before  he  had  looked  upon  Mr.  Tupper  as  a  fully 
developed  slave  driver,  but  before  he  had  labored  an 
hour  under  Joan's  supervision  he  realized  that,  beside 
her,  Mr.  Tupper  was  a  mere  infant  in  arms.  It  was 
not  that  Joan  was  noisily  urgent;  quite  the  contrary. 
She  sat  unnaturally  still  but  her  stillness  was  tense.  It 
was  her  face  and  her  expression  that  did  the  driving. 
Her  eyes  followed  quickly  every  movement  he  made  and 
her  expression  changed  with  the  rapidity  of  a  kaleido- 
scope from  approval  to  scorn  and  from  censure  to  open 
exultation.  When  he  paused  only  to  stretch  his  aching 
back,  her  eyes  clouded ;  and  once,  when  he  dared  to  reach 
out  a  tentative  hand  toward  his  pipe,  they  blazed  in  such 
consternation  that  he  suddenly  changed  his  mind  and 
scratched  his  head  instead,  as  though  that  were  all  he 
had  started  out  to  do. 

His  sigh  of  relief  when  a  far-away  clang  warned  them 
of  the  dinner  hour  was  so  deep  that  it  burst  a  button 
from  his  shirt.  He  could  not  enjoy  his  dinner  be- 
cause he  was  too  hot  and  tired  to  eat  and  Joan  watched 
him  just  as  she  had  done  at  breakfast.  When  they  got 
back  to  the  boathouse  he  walked  inside  and  closed  the 
door  after  him. 

"  Wha  —  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  called  Joan. 

"  Going  for  a  swim,"  called  back  John.     He  took  his 


140  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

plunge  in  the  shelter  of  the  house,  dressed  slowly  and 
came  out,  his  hair  still  dripping.  He  was  feeling  much 
better  for  the  bathe,  but  one  glance  at  Joan  wiped  the 
smile  from  his  lips.  She  had  been  crying,  she  was  still 
crying,  the  slow  tears  coursing  down  her  tense  face. 

John  sprang  ashore.  "  Joan,"  he  cried,  all  contri- 
tion. "  Don't.  Don't  cry." 

"  You  don't  care,"  sobbed  Joan.  "  I  want  to  see  the 
boat  finished  so  much,  I  ache.  My  head  aches  with 
wishing,  and  you  —  you  don't  care." 

John's  face  set  grimly.  "  I  '11  show  you,"  he  said 
and  flew  at  his  tools.  All  afternoon  he  worked  in  a 
sort  of  dull  frenzy  but  he  did  not  let  his  haste  disor- 
ganize him.  He  drove  his  brain  first  of  all  and  his 
brain  drove  his  hands,  his  straddled  legs,  and  even  his 
teeth,  into  action.  By  evening  he  had  accomplished 
wonders  and  he  and  Joan  were  both  too  tired  to  talk 
as  they  walked  to  the  house  for  supper.  Just  before 
they  reached  it  he  said,  "  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ? " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  Promise  me  you  won't  come  down  to  the  boathouse 
till  four  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,"  said  John,  smiling  nervously,  "  I  simply 
can't  stand  the  pace.  Promise  or  I  '11  — " 

"I  promise,"  said  Joan,  hastily,  and  then  turned 
curious  eyes  on  him.  "  You  were  going  to  say  or  you  *d 
quit.  Don't  —  don't  even  think  of  it." 

At  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  John  looked  upon 
his  completed  labor  and  saw  that  it  was  good ;  no  flimsy 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  141 

contraption  of  lath  and  unbleached  muslin  but  a  rig 
clumsily  strong  in  every  brace  and  stay,  strong  enough 
to  bury  the  little  boat  gunwale  deep  in  half  a  breeze,  or 
sail  her  to  the  bottom  in  a  blow. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HE  was  enjoying  a  lazy  pipe  when  a  clear  voice 
hailed  him  from  up  among  the  pines,  "  7s  it  four 
o'clock  yet  ? " 

"  Two  minutes  to  go,"  called  John. 

The  girl  came  down  the  incline  in  swift,  slithering 
rushes. 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  John  in  genuine  alarm,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  "  You  '11  slip." 

She  tripped  on  a  root  and  shot  into  his  arms.  Even 
as  she  freed  herself  she  said  breathlessly,  "  Is  it  really 
•finished?  " 

He  nodded  and  for  a  moment  they  stood  side  by  side 
and  stared  at  the  sturdy  craft  that  looked  like  a  dilapi- 
dated, dappled  rocking  horse  crying  aloud  for  two  gal- 
lons of  paint. 

"  It 's  beautiful,"  said  Joan,  with  a  sigh  of  content. 
"I  —  I'm  ready." 

John  started  to  pick  her  up  to  put  her  on  board, 
but  she  sprang  back  with  a  shake  of  her  head.  She 
turned  from  him,  slipped  off  her  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  waded  out  to  the  boat.  He  followed,  helped  her  in, 
and  then  rowed  quickly  beyond  the  lea  of  the  pine 
forest.  When  the  breeze  descended  upon  them  in  light 
puffs  he  hurried  forward,  let  down  the  centerboard, 
ran  up  the  big  square  sail,  made  taut  the  weather  stays, 

142 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  143 

and  with  the  sheet  wrapped  around  one  wrist  worked 
his  way  back  to  the  tiller.  The  breeze  freshened.  He 
took  a  turn  over  a  thole-pin  and  drew  the  sheet  tight. 
The  sail  filled,  the  boat  heeled  to  the  wind  and,  a  mo- 
ment later,  rushing  water  was  purling  in  a  mounting 
wave  from  under  her  stern. 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Joan.  "  Oh !  »  She  was  thrilled  and 
frightened.  She  did  n't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 
She  looked  at  John's  face  and  saw  a  light  playing  in 
his  eyes  she  had  never  seen  before.  A  puff  of  wind 
caught  her  big  hat,  tore  it  from  her  head,  and  soused 
it  into  the  lake  fifty  feet  ahead.  Now  she  knew  which 
she  wanted  to  do.  She  threw  her  arms  wide  and 
laughed  aloud. 

John's  face  was  set.  "  Get  ready  to  pick  up  your 
hat,"  he  said  sharply;  then  he  wore  boat  and  the  next 
moment  suddenly  luffed. 

Joan  stared  down.  There  was  her  hat  just  within 
reach.  She  snatched  it  out  of  the  water  and  even  as 
she  did  so  the  boat  sprang  forward  again.  She  could 
not  know  all  the  cunning  of  the  touch  that  had  brought 
the  craft  to  that  sudden  pause  in  its  headlong  flight,  but 
something  told  her  that  she  need  fear  no  more,  that 
John  was  master  of  wind  and  wave,  and  of  this  live 
thing  that  he  had  made  with  his  hands. 

Almost  before  they  knew  it  they  were  past  the  point 
that  had  sheltered  them  two  days  before,  and  in  three 
long  slants  they  put  the  narrows  behind  them  and  shot 
out  on  a  new  sea  with  a  far  horizon. 

"  Jiminy !  "  cried  John.     "  Look  at  'em." 

Three    immaculate    little    twenty-footers,    that   had 


144:  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

been  beating  their  way  toward  the  neck  of  water  from 
which  John's  boat  was  rushing,  were  in  the  act  of  wear- 
ing as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  are  n't  they  pretty"  said  Joan.  "  They  must 
be  from  the  Lake  Grand." 

"  From  the  what  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  The  Lake  Grand  Hotel,  over  there,"  said  Joan  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand.  "  Miles."  A  burst  of  laughter 
floated  back  to  them  from  the  boats  ahead.  Joan  flushed 
and  turned  to  John.  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  you 
wanted  paint  —  white  paint?  I  would  have  hated  to 
wait  for  it  to  dry  but  I  could  have  waited  if  —  if  you  'd 
made  me  —  if  you  'd  told  me  they  'd  laugh  at  us !  " 

"  Paint 's  a  fine  thing,"  said  John,  "  but  it  does  n't 
help  a  boat  when  it  comes  to  sailing.  You  just  wait, 
wait  ten  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  and  you  '11  forget  all 
about  paint."  He  crowded  the  boat  close  into  the  wind 
and  held  her  there.  The  breeze  across  the  wide  water 
grew  in  force  with  every  foot  they  traveled.  Soon 
there  were  whitecaps  and  spray.  The  boat's  bows 
surged  and  lifted  with  a  mighty  swirl.  A  fleck  of  water 
slapped  Joan  across  the  face  and  soaked  her  arm. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  getting  wet ! "  she  gasped  and  then 
laughed.  Her  blood  was  on  fire.  John  saw  it  flaming 
in  her  cheeks.  He  smiled  at  her  and  then,  holding  the 
tiller  between  his  knees,  leaned  over  and  lifted  out  two 
floorboards.  He  jammed  their  ends  under  a  thwart  so 
that  they  stuck  far  out  over  the  weather  gunwale.  The 
boat  heeled  and  shipped  water. 

"  Here,"  cried  John.     "  Lie  on  one  of  these." 

"I  —  I  'm  frightened,"  said  Joan. 


JOAN 


*  JOHN   BOGAKDUS  145 

"  No,  you  're  not,"  said  John,  sharply.  "  Leave  it 
to  me.  I  '11  tell  you  when  to  be  frightened.  Do  as  I 
tell  you." 

Joan  crawled  across  and  sat  on  one  of  the  boards. 

"  Higher,"  said  John.  "  Get  your  weight  over  the 
edge.  Wait.  I  '11  show  you." 

With  the  loose  end  of  the  sheet  he  took  a  turn  on  the 
tiller;  then  he  slid  out  on  the  floorboard  nearest  him 
as  far  as  he  could  get  and  still  keep  his  foot  firmly  braced 
against  the  helm. 

"  I  'm  frightened.  I  am  frightened,"  cried  Joan. 
"  I  could  never  do  that.  You  're  not  in  the  boat  at  all !  " 

Even  while  she  spoke  she  slid  herself  up  backwards 
inch  by  inch  until  John  called  out,  "  That 's  fine.  See 
how  close  we  are  together.  You  see,  I  just  had  to  have 
you  up  here  with  me  so  I  could  talk  to  you.  Now  take 
a  long  breath  and  look  around." 

Joan  did  as  she  was  told.  Beneath  her  bulged  the 
slimy  side  of  the  little  boat  that  seemed  to  be  using 
its  keel  for  a  fin.  At  its  bows  rose  a  frothy  rollicking 
comb,  taking  many  a  slap  from  the  boat  and  slapping 
back  once  in  a  while  with  long  iridescent  plumes  of 
spray.  The  close-drawn  sail  bulged  out  tremendously, 
cupped  the  breeze,  and  swept  it  back  over  her.  The 
wind  tore  at  her  hair  and  loosened  long  strands  that 
streamed  out  like  silken  pennants.  The  lee  gunwale 
played  a  dangerous  game  of  touch  and  go  with  the 
brimming  waters  of  the  lake  and  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  the  big  Leghorn  hat,  soaking  wet,  occasionally 
flopped  one  side  of  its  brim  like  a  stranded  fish  at  the 
last  gasp. 


146  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Joan.     "  Oh !  "  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  John.  "  Hold  tight  to  the  seat. 
This  isn't  a  buckboard  on  four  wheels." 

"  Why ! "  cried  Joan,  "  where  are  those  pretty 
boats?" 

"  You  '11  see  in  a  minute,"  said  John. 

Even  as  he  spoke  they  blanketed  the  nearest  of  the 
three  yachts  and  shot  past  it.  John's  quick  eye  took 
in  the  reefed  mainsail,  the  slack  sheet,  and  the  look  of 
tamed  consternation  on  the  faces  of  the  immaculate 
crew.  It  also  caught  a  combination  of  surprise  and  in- 
dignation in  the  face  of  a  single  girl  passenger,  whose 
lips  were  open  as  though  getting  ready  to  tell  her  es- 
corts what  she  thought  of  them. 

John  smiled  and  then  said  in  a  clear,  carrying  voice, 
"  I  do  hope  they  've  brought  their  supper  with  them." 

"  Oh,"  said  Joan,  laughing  softly.  "  They  heard 
you.  I  saw  them  hear  you." 

Then  she  turned  her  eyes  on  John.  For  a  long  time 
he  had  not  looked  at  her  and  she  wondered  why;  soon 
she  saw  the  reason.  Although  sitting  apparently  still, 
he  was  exceedingly  busy.  His  eyes  shot  glances  here 
and  there  that  were  like  flashes,  but  they  kept  to  a  steady 
round.  His  face  was  eager  but  tense,  as  though  intent 
upon  an  infinite  number  of  minute  calculations  based 
upon  that  round  of  glances.  Coatless  and  bareheaded, 
with  his  shirt  open  at  the  throat,  his  right  arm  swelling 
under  the  strain  of  the  sheet  and  his  extended  right 
foot  playing  firmly  against  the  helm,  his  whole  body 
braced  and  balanced  to  a  nicety,  he  presented  a  virile 
and  attractive  picture.  Joan  studied  the  steady  glow  in 


JOHN   BOGARDTJS  147 

his  olive  cheeks  and  began  to  wonder  if  he  were  hand- 
some. 

For  half  an  hour  they  sailed  without  a  word,  then 
suddenly  John  glanced  at  the  girl,  a  wholly  impersonal 
glance.  "  Get  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  hold  fast, 
and  keep  your  head  down,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Quick !  " 

Joan  scrambled  to  obey. 

"Will  she,  oh,  will  she  jibe?"  murmured  John. 
Crouching  forward,  he  wrapped  the  sheet  around  his 
left  arm,  then  he  leaped  for  the  stern  of  the  boat  and, 
jambing  the  tiller  hard  a-starboard  with  his  knee,  cast 
the  rope  free  from  the  thole. 

The  boat  gave  a  sickening  lurch  and  shipped  enough 
water  to  make  Joan  scream  with  fright.  Almost  im- 
mediately it  righted  to  a  deafening  slatting  of  the  sail, 
for  a  second  the  bows  hovered  as  though  in  dire  doubt, 
and  then  gradually  paid  off  to  the  wind.  The  sail  filled 
and  went  over  with  a  slap  and  a  bang.  John  let  go 
the  tiller,  braced  his  feet  and  hung  to  the  sheet  with  both 
hands. 

"  Ye  gods !  "  he  chanted  as  the  boat  swept  forward  on 
the  tack,  "  will  she  jibe !  " 

"  Please  — "  stuttered  Joan,  "  p-please  don't  do  it 
again."  Then  her  eyes  were  drawn  to  the  shore,  still 
so  close  that  it  seemed  to  overhang  them.  "  Why,"  she 
cried,  "  you  almost  ran  it  into  the  woods !  " 

"  Don't  call  her  '  it,'  please,"  said  John,  shipping 
the  loose  floorboards  with  his  feet.  "  Say,  d'  you  think 
we  can  do  it  ?  " 

"  Do  what  ? "  asked  Joan,  climbing  to  a  more  com- 
fortable and  dignified  position. 


148  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

"  Make  a  ring  around  those  rosies,"  said  John  with 
a  nod  of  his  head  toward  the  three  yachts. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  said  Joan. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  muttered  John,  "—  yet.  But  I  '11 
tell  you  all  about  it  in  an  hour." 

In  half  an  hour  they  went  around  again  and  twenty 
minutes  later  swept  down  on  the  enemy,  so  close  that 
Joan  gasped. 

"  Say,"  called  the  youthful  skipper  of  the  nearest 
yacht,  a  sheepish  grin  on  his  face  and  greed  in  his  eyes, 
"  what  boat 's  that  ?  " 

"  The  Joan,  you  landlubber,"  shouted  John,  grinning 
back  over  his  shoulder. 

Soon  after,  they  turned  and  ran  for  their  home  port. 
During  the  long  beat  back  to  the  boathouse  John  tried 
out  his  boat  in  many  ways  and  taught  Joan  many  things 
with  an  eye  to  making  her  into  a  crew.  When  they 
came  to  anchor  she  waded  ashore  and  put  on  her  shoes 
and  stockings  while  he  made  all  snug  on  board.  The 
sun  was  setting  as  he  joined  her,  the  supper  hour  far 
past,  but  she  was  loath  to  leave.  She  stood  shivering, 
her  wide  eyes  fastened  on  the  boat  which  with  its 
big  wing  furled  looked  the  very  negation  of  life  and 
flight 

"  She 's  mighty  ugly,"  said  John,  "  lut  —" 

"  It  —  t-t-is  n't  ugly,"  chattered  Joan. 

"  Is  n't  she  ? "  said  John  with  a  pleased  smile. 
"  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  and  I  know.  She 's  not  a  boat 
at  all ;  she 's  a  race  horse." 

He  picked  up  his  coat  and  wrapped  it  around  Joan's 
wet  shoulders,  buttoning  it  under  her  chin.  Once  they 


y  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS  149 

reached  the  road,  they  raced  for  the  house  and  arrived 
there  quite  warm  and  panting. 

Mr.  Tupper  was  pacing  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
kitchen  door,  scowling  and  chewing  on  a  straw.  "  Here 
they  be !  "  he  called  and  Mrs.  Tupper  appeared  at  his 
back. 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  gasped  Joan. 

"  There,  there,"  said  Mrs.  Tupper.  "  No  call  to  bust 
yerself  tellin'  us  all  about  it.  We  seen  ye.  Come  in 
an'  eat  your  supper." 

The  moment  Joan  took  off  John's  coat  and  displayed 
her  wet  clothes  John  saw  Mrs.  Tupper  exercise  author- 
ity for  the  first  time.  She  said  nothing;  she  merely 
gripped  the  girl  by  the  arm  and  rushed  her  up  the 
narrow  stairs  that  led  from  the  kitchen  to  the  bedrooms 
above. 

As  John  was  putting  on  his  coat,  Mr.  Tupper  entered 
the  kitchen  and  stood  in  a  corner  as  still  as  a  hogshead 
except  for  his  jaws  and  the  wagging  straw.  It  seemed 
to  John,  who  was  feeling  intensely  uncomfortable,  that 
the  scowl  on  Mr.  Tupper's  face  was  gradually  deepen- 
ing, but  if  there  was  a  storm  impending  it  suddenly 
cleared  as  Joan,  warmly  dressed  and  her  cheeks  glowing 
from  a  rubdown,  reappeared,  followed  by  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Tupper  turned  her  attention  to  John.  "  Be  you 
wet,  too  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  John,  starting  for  the  supper  table 
where  Joan  was  already  seating  herself. 

Mrs.  Tupper  adroitly  slipped  her  hand  under  his 
coat.  "  You  never  was  whipped  for  lying,  was  yer  ? 
You  oughter  change  yer  things  er  take  somethin'." 


150  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

"  Thanks,"  said  John.  "  I  would  n't  mind  a  tot  of 
whisky  or  a  glass  of  port." 

Mr.  Tupper  fixed  him  with  a  stern  glance.  "  Young 
feller,"  he  rumbled,  "  we  don't  hold  by  'toxicatin'  sper- 
rits  on  this  farm  ner  nary  a  store  licker.  You  '11  take 
some  of  Mrs.  Tupper's  peach  brandy  er  you  '11  take 
nothin'." 

John  smiled  and  said,  "  Certainly,  anything  will  do." 

He  grasped  the  generous  wineglass  held  out  to  him 
by  Mrs.  Tupper  and  in  the  innocence  of  his  heart  poured 
its  contents  down  his  throat.  The  next  instant  he 
choked  and  was  gasping  for  breath.  Confused  images 
of  a  knockout  blow,  a  river  of  lava,  and  childhood's  vi- 
sions of  hell  whirled  through  his  brain.  Subconsciously 
he  heard  Mrs.  Tupper  say  in  a  loud  solicitous  whisper, 
"  Musta  swallered  it  the  wrong  way." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JOHN  buried  the  brandy,  more  potent  than  any 
ship's  grog,  under  an  enormous  supper.  As  he 
was  finishing  he  heard  Mrs.  Tupper  exclaim  in  a  whis- 
per, "  Land  sakes !  "  and  following  her  gaze  and  that  of 
Mr.  Tupper,  he  saw  an  entrancing  sight.  Joan  had 
sunk  deep  in  her  chair  and  fallen  fast  asleep. 

Something  in  the  childishness  of  her  pose  drew  mois- 
ture to  her  parents'  eyes.  They  tiptoed  nearer  and 
hung  over  her,  their  weather-beaten  faces  breaking  into 
smiles  that  made  them  suddenly  young.  In  a  moment 
John  felt  himself  altogether  forgotten.  He  rose  and 
slipped  quietly  toward  the  door.  As  he  went  he  heard 
Mrs.  Tupper  say,  "  Le  's  see  ef  we  c'n  put  her  to  bed 
without  rousin'  her, —  like  we  used  to." 

John  strode  down  the  hill,  his  brow  knitted  in  a  puz- 
zled frown.  He  was  striving  as  usual  to  place  Joan. 
All  his  wanderings  had  given  him  no  experience  of  a 
dominant  younger  generation  and  it  was  no  wonder  that 
Joan,  following  her  own  sweet  will  straight  through  the 
decalogue  of  the  European  don'ts  of  a  jeune  fille  and 
coming  out  apparently  unscathed,  should  throw  his  mind 
into  a  hopeless  maze. 

Had  he  not  been  so  taken  up  with  puzzling  over  Joan 
he  might  have  found  time  and  occasion  for  several 
equally  troubling  speculations  in  regard  to  a  certain 

151 


152  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

Mr.  John  Bogardus  who  had  been  traveling  very  fast 
these  last  few  days.  Speed  is  a  fine  thing  in  the  air  or 
on  the  ground,  but  it  is  just  as  well  to  know  where  one  is 
going  to  end  up.  John  was  conscious  of  the  wind  on 
his  cheeks  but  he  was  n't  even  looking  out  ahead  for  a 
hairpin  turn  or  an  air-pocket. 

Back  in  the  boathouse  he  was  too  sleepy  to  think 
even  of  Joan,  and  without  stopping  to  take  off  his  damp 
clothes  he  stretched  out  and  slept  the  sleep  of  defiant 
youth.  He  awoke  late,  breakfasted,  ard,  after  going 
through  his  toilet,  sat  down  to  wait  for  Joan.  She  did 
not  come.  Presently  he  grew  restless  and  made  his  way 
to  the  house.  It  was  deserted,  the  whole  farm  was  de- 
serted, save  for  old  Ben,  who  sat  on  the  steps  of  the 
kitchen  door  with  one  ear  cocked  toward  the  range  in- 
side. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  asked  John,  bewildered. 

"  Watchin'  the  dinner,"  grunted  Ben. 

"Why,"  said  John,  "  where 's  Mrs.  Tupper? 
Where 's  everybody  ?  " 

"  Gone  where  everybody  is,  excep'  steady  old  men  an' 
young  limbs  o'  Satan." 

"  To  church !  "  exclaimed  John,  promptly.  "  I  'd 
forgotten  all  about  what  day  it  was !  " 

He  sat  down  beside  Ben  and  the  two  smoked  for  an 
hour  in  unbroken  silence.  At  the  end  of  the  hour  the 
old  man  got  up,  went  into  the  kitchen,  stirred  the  fire, 
sniffed  into  the  oven,  and  moved  over  various  pots  and 
pans.  As  he  finished,  a  clatter  of  wheels  was  heard  in 
the  distance.  The  spring  wagon  appeared,  Mr.  Tupper 
driving  with  Mrs.  Tupper  beside  him  and  three  farm 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  153 

hands  packed  into  the  back  seat.  Joan  was  not  with 
them. 

Far  behind  and  driving  very  slowly,  perhaps  to  al- 
low for  the  settling  of  the  dust  of  the  spring  wagon, 
came  a  light  buggy  drawn  by  a  restive  team  of  sorrel 
horses.  The  sun  glinted  on  the  high  lights  of  their 
sweating  flanks,  on  the  gay  red  paint  of  the  spokes  of 
the  wheels,  and  on  the  gleaming  polish  of  the  buggy's 
black  body.  In  the  narrow  seat  was  a  blur  of  white, 
sitting  very  close  to  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders.  As  the 
buggy  slowly  climbed  the  hill  to  the  house  John's  heart 
slowly  climbed  down  and  down.  He  wondered  why. 

With  a  flick  of  his  whip  Broad-shoulders  sent  his 
horses  plunging  to  the  right-about  and  brought  the  buggy 
with  a  grand  flourish  to  a  sudden  stop,  the  off  wheel 
almost  grazing  the  mounting  block  beside  the  driveway. 
Joan,  looking  very  sweet  in  a  quite  new  big  hat  and  a 
fresh  white  frock,  stepped  lightly  out. 

"  So-long,  Harry,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"  So-long,  Joan,"  answered  the  stranger,  an  extraor- 
dinarily healthy,  comely,  and  well-dressed  young  man. 
Then,  with  a  wave  of  his  whip  toward  everybody,  he 
touched  up  his  horses  again  and  in  a  moment  had 
swirled  down  the  hill  and  out  of  sight. 

John  looked  at  the  group  about  him  and,  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  turned  tramp,  felt  decidedly  under- 
dressed.  Tupper,  Mrs.  Tupper,  the  farm  hands,  and 
even  old  Ben  who  had  slipped  on  a  coat,  to  say  nothing 
of  Joan  who  was  just  a  little  more  of  a  glory  than  usual, 
were  clean  and  resplendent  in  their  best  store  clothes. 
Their  stiff  Sunday  habit,  the  conscious  weekly  cleanli- 


154  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

ness  of  the  men,  and  the  hushed  awe  New  England 
women  wear  on  the  Sabbath  day  along  with  their  best 
lace  mitts  shut  him  out  completely  ,and  gave  him  an 
inkling  of  how  a  sinner  ought  to  feel  in  the  presence  of 
the  righteous. 

All  through  dinner  he  was  depressed  and  ate  in  si- 
lence. When  they  left  the  table  he  got  a  chance  to 
whisper  to  Joan,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  after- 
noon ? " 

"  Going  for  a  ride  with  Harry,"  she  answered  ab- 
sently. 

John  plunged  down  the  dusty  road  to  the  boathouse, 
thinking  of  a  lot  of  things  he  could  do  to  kill  time.  He 
could  pick  berries  or  sleep  or  bathe  or  go  for  a  swim  or 
a  sail  by  himself.  He  sat  down  under  the  pines  and 
wondered  why  he  did  n't  feel  like  doing  any  of  these  de- 
lightful things ;  then  he  got  up  and  languidly  prepared 
to  fish.  He  was  too  indifferent  to  get  out  a  boat  and 
consequently  perched  himself  at  the  end  of  the  boat- 
house. 

The  first  victim  to  his  bait  gave  him  a  tug  that  almost 
landed  him  in  the  water.  He  had  a  moment  of  pleas- 
urable excitement,  which  came  to  an  anticlimax  when 
he  dragged  out  a  slimy  eel.  He  sighed  as  he  crawled 
ashore  and  put  away  his  tackle.  Even  the  fish  in  the 
vicinity  knew  better  than  to  bite  on  Sunday. 

He  did  not  bother  to  go  to  the  house  for  supper  nor 
for  breakfast  the  next  morning;  out  of  a  sort  of  spite 
he  ate  the  eel  instead.  Just  as  he  was  finishing  the  last 
of  it  Joan  appeared,  swinging  a  pail. 

"I  —  I  thought  you 'd  like  to  shave  this  morning." 


4,  JOHN   BOGAEDUS  155 

John  nodded  to  her  gravely;  he  was  still  feeling  de- 
pressed. As  he  took  the  pail,  something  rattled  in  the 
bottom.  He  looked  in  and  found  a  sizable  piece  of  a 
broken  mirror.  "  For  me  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  grin. 

Joan  nodded.  She  sat  down,  clasped  her  hands  nerv- 
ously and  said,  "  Oh,  do  hurry  up." 

But  John  did  not  hurry.  He  took  the  bit  of  mirror, 
caught  the  sun  on  it,  and  started  heliographing  absent- 
mindedly  at  a  knothole  in  the  boathouse  wall.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  want  to  go  for  a  sail,"  he  drawled. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Joan. 

"  Not  much  of  a  breeze  this  morning.  More  of  a  day 
for  a  drive  I  should  say." 

Joan  considered  him  gravely.  "  All  right,"  she  said 
after  a  moment.  "  Hurry  up  and  shave ;  then  we  '11  go 
to  the  barn  and  hitch  up  whatever  is  n't  haying." 

John  stared  at  her,  then  tossed  aside  the  looking- 
glass  and  said  impatiently,  "  Who  's  Harry  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Joan,  suddenly  smiling.  "  Why  did  n't 
you  say  so  ?  Harry 's  just  Harry  —  a  nice  boy  that 
I  've  always  known  and  that 's  always  known  me.  Now, 
do  you  feel  better  ?  " 

John  grunted  and  prepared  to  shave.  As  he  shaved 
a  breeze  arose  and  began  to  dapple  the  lake  with  cat's- 
paws.  He  felt  the  wind  and  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  saw  it  speckling  across  the  water.  His  spirits 
began  to  rise,  his  eyes  shone  with  mischief.  Without 
stopping  to  wash  the  leavings  of  soap  from  his  neck  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  rushed  at  Joan,  picked  her  up,  and 
started  for  the  boat  with  a  shout. 

The  girl  turned  suddenly  pale.     With  all  her  strength 


156  JOHN    BOGAKDTJS 

she  pushed  him  from  her  and  struggled  so  that  he  had 
to  set  her  down  with  more  expedition  than  grace.  She 
stumbled,  caught  herself,  sprang  on  a  rock,  and  turned 
on  him. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  How  dare  you  pick  me  up  ?  "  she 
gasped,  her  eyes  blazing. 

John  stood  back  and  stared  at  her.  "  I  'm  very  sorry, 
Joan,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I  was  simply  going  to  put 
you  on  the  boat.  I  did  n't  dream  I  'd  make  you  angry." 

Joan  glared  back  at  him  for  a  moment ;  then  sat  down 
with  her  back  to  him  and  drew  off  her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. "  Go  wash  that  soap  off,"  she  commanded. 

Together  they  waded  out  to  the  Joan.  Once  they 
were  well  under  way  they  both  forgot  bygones  and  gave 
themselves  up  to  whole-souled  joy  in  the  glorious  day, 
the  laughing  water,  and  the  sinuous  swirling  rush  of 
the  boat. 

They  sailed  far  that  morning,  and  gradually  John 
began  to  feel  the  scenery  pressing  in  upon  him  as  though 
it  were  striving  to  link  the  present  to  some  vague  recol- 
lection. Suddenly  they  shot  past  a  point  and  his  eyes 
came  up  with  a  shock  against  a  great  building  that 
crowded  down  on  the  lake  and  seemed  even  to  extend  one 
big  toe  over  the  water.  "  Why,"  he  cried,  "  what  — 
what 's  that  ?  " 

In  his  excitement  he  clutched  the  tiller  toward  him 
and  the  Joan  promptly  luffed  into  the  wind  and  was 
taken  all  aback.  Joan  peered  under  the  flapping  sail. 
"  That  ?  "  she  said.  "  That 's  the  Lake  Grand  Hotel." 

John  stared  all  about  him.  Yes,  there  was  the  very 
veranda  upon  which  he  and  his  father  had  spent  so 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  157 

many  long  hours,  and  there  was  the  pier,  looking  like 
the  hotel's  big  toe,  from  which  he  had  plunged,  to  be 
rescued  by  good  old  Captain  Ike.  And  the  point  back 
there,  the  point  they  had  just  passed,  that  was  where 
he  had  stood  alone  and  seen  the  bareheaded  girl  in  the 
catboat.  He  gave  a  great  sigh. 

"  Why,"  said  Joan,  "  what 's  the  matter  ?  Have  n't 
you  ever  seen  a  hotel  before  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  absently.  "  I  've  seen  it  before." 
He  worked  the  tiller  slowly  to  and  fro  until  the  boat 
wore  round  to  the  wind. 

"  Every  night  they  dance,"  said  Joan,  "  and  every 
Saturday  night  they  give  a  big  dance." 

"  Do  you  dance  ?  "  asked  John,  his  attention  caught 
by  a  wistfulness  in  her  voice  that  seemed  to  link  her 
to  his  thoughts  of  the  lonely  time  he  had  once  spent 
at  the  hotel  which  had  evidently  changed  its  name  dur- 
ing the  years  that  had  intervened. 

Joan  nodded.  "  But  I  've  only  danced  with  girls 
except  once." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  here  ?  "  asked  John.  "  Or  don't 
they  let  any  one  except  guests  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Joan.  "  They  'd  let  me,  only  there  's 
no  one  to  go  with.  Harry  took  me  once  but  he  does  n't 
dance  and  we  just  sat  and  sat.  It  was  awful" 

"  To-day  's  Monday,"  said  John.  "  Next  Saturday 
I  '11  take  you." 

Joan  glanced  at  him,  started  to  laugh,  and  then 
checked  herself  in  amazement.  Her  tramp  was  actually 
in  earnest!  He  saw  her  eyes  sweep  over  him,  take  in 
his  shirt,  open  at  the  throat,  his  tough  but  dilapidated 


158  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

trousers  and  his  clumsy  footwear,  squashy  from  contin- 
ued soakings.  Her  cheeks  flushed  as  she  turned  her 
eyes  away  and  said,  "  I  could  n't  —  I  would  n't  —  I  — 
I  don't  think  I  want  to  go  very  much  after  all." 

"  What  you  mean,"  said  John,  grinning,  "  is  that  you 
would  die  of  shame  to  be  seen  with  me." 

Joan  gave  his  clothes  another  glance  and  tossed  her 
head.  "  It  is  n't  you"  she  said  defiantly.  "  I  know 
you  're  clean  as  water." 

"  You  listen  to  me,"  said  John.  "  Take  my  advice 
and  be  ready  to  go  to  the  dance  next  Saturday  night  — 
if  your  mother  will  really  let  you." 

"  Why  should  n't  she  ?  "  asked  Joan.  "  Did  n't  I  tell 
her  we  were  going  to  sail  under  the  first  full  moon  for 
luck  ?  If  we  stop  a  while  to  dance,  what  is  that  ?  Do 
you  think  a  summer  dance  at  the  Lake  Grand  is  a  ball 
with  glad  clothes  and  cotillion  favors  and  —  and  dia- 
mond necklaces  —  and  chaperones  ?  " 

"  I  'm  stupid,"  said  John.  "  Next  Saturday  there  's 
a  full  moon  and  we  certainly  can't  sail  under  it  till  it 's 
good  and  high.  No  boating  to-morrow,  by  the  way. 
I  've  got  to  work.  I  need  money." 

Joan's  face  had  been  slowly  lighting  up  with  antici- 
pation, now  it  grew  anxious.  "  Why,"  she  said,  "  how 
much  do  you  think  you  can  earn  between  this  and  Sat- 
urday ? " 

"  I  only  want  fifty  cents,"  said  John,  and  smiled  at 
the  heavy  cloud  that  suddenly  settled  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  next  day  John  took  his  place  in  the  fields 
and  worked  with  a  will.  After  supper  he  went 
to  Mr.  Tupper  and  asked  for  his  pay. 

"  How  much  d  'ye  think  you  're  going  to  get  ?  " 
snapped  the  farmer. 

"  Fifty  cents,"  said  John,  promptly. 

"  Hmph !  "  grunted  Mr.  Tupper,  handing  over  the 
money.  "  Want  to  sign  on  for  a  month  at  the  same 
rate  ?  Yer  grub  only  runs  f er  another  two  days,  thank 
gum." 

"  ~No,  thanks,"  said  John,  biting  the  silver  coin  sus- 
piciously. "  This  will  last  me  for  a  long  while." 

The  next  morning  he  trudged  to  the  nearest  town 
and  sent  two  telegrams;  one  asking  for  money,  and 
another  directing  that  a  suitcase  he  had  left  ready- 
packed  be  sent  to  him  by  express.  On  Friday  he  made 
the  trip  again,  found  his  money  but  no  suitcase.  He 
waited  all  day  and  did  various  things  to  keep  himself 
from  worrying,  had  his  hair  cut,  ate  more  than  was 
good  for  him,  and  indulged  in  two  packets  of  cigarettes 
that  seemed  meager  fare  after  weeks  of  pipe  smoking. 

That  evening  at  supper  he  was  so  distrait  that  Joan 
approached  after  the  meal  to  give  him  a  chance  to  con- 
fide his  troubles,  but  he  only  smiled  at  her  and  said, 
"  Don't  forget.  Full  moon  to-morrow." 

159 


160  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS 

She  watched  him  as  he  walked  out,  and  frowned  and 
smiled  at  the  same  time.  She  frowned  because  these 
last  three  days  had  puzzled  her  sorely,  and  she  smiled 
because  she  was  beginning  to  feel  thrills  in  prospect. 

Outside,  John  ran  into  Mr.  Tupper.  "  I  think  I  'd 
like  to  be  a  summer-boarder  for  a  while,"  he  said. 
"  What  is  this  ?  A  dollar  house  ?  " 

"  Three-fifty  a  week,"  said  Mr.  Tupper,  promptly, 
reminiscent  of  days  before  the  Lake  Grand  had  cut  out 
its  small  competitors. 

John  paid  for  a  week  in  advance  and  started  down 
the  hill.  Mr.  Tupper  stared  at  the  money  in  his  hand, 
then  at  John's  receding  figure.  "  Hi !  "  he  shouted. 
He  waddled  down  to  where  John  waited  and  returned 
to  him  one  of  the  dollar  bills.  "  Three  fifty 's  board 
and  lodgin',"  he  grunted  and  turned  on  his  heel.  John 
watched  the  evolution  eagerly;  he  never  gave  up  hopes 
that  some  day  Mr.  Tupper  would  lose  his  balance  and 
roll  into  the  lake  before  help  could  reach  him. 

The  next  day  John  was  up  early  and  walked  to  the 
town  before  the  sun  grew  hot.  To  his  immense  relief 
his  suitcase  had  come.  He  weighed  it  thoughtfully  at 
the  end  of  his  arm  and  looked  long  at  a  sign  that  read, 
"O'Hanlon's  Bait  and  Livery  Stable."  The  word 
bait  had  been  partially  obliterated,  Mr.  O'Hanlon  hav- 
ing evidently  suffered  from  the  misguided  attentions  of 
prospective  fishermen. 

John  hesitated  long  but  finally  decided  to  take  no 
curious,  hired  driver  within  hail  of  his  peaceful  lair. 
Hot,  dusty,  and  tired  he  reached  the  boathouse  well 
after  the  noon  hour. 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  161 

The  sun  had  scarcely  set  when  Joan  came  down 
through  the  pines  in  her  peculiar  run,  made  up  of  swift 
dashes  and  sudden  pauses.  John  stood  up  to  meet  her. 
She  stopped  stock  still  and  stared  at  him,  not  in  amaze- 
ment but  with  a  gaze  that  was  half  quick  girlish  pleas- 
ure and  half  shrewd  calculation.  Then  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  eyes  shone.  "  Am  I  —  am  I  all 
right  ?  "  she  asked  quite  humbly. 

John  was  standing  well  out  from  the  trees  in  the  full 
light  of  the  afterglow.  He  was  dressed  in  a  snowy 
white  Madras  shirt,  well-pressed,  white  flannel  trousers, 
held  up  by  a  belt,  and  patent  leather  pumps.  He  car- 
ried a  white  flannel  coat  over  his  arm  and  wore  black 
silk  socks  in  a  day  when  silk  socks  were  still  caviar  to 
the  multitude.  It  was  when  Joan  drew  near  enough 
to  take  in  the  silk  socks  that  she  grew  humble. 

"  You !  "  cried  John.  "  Why,  you  're  always  all 
right.  Come,  see  what  I  've  made." 

He  led  her  to  where  a  little  pier  ran  out  far  enough 
to  allow  her  to  step  on  the  Joan  dry-shod.  In  the  stern 
of  the  boat  he  had  spread  a  clean  bath-towel  to  save 
the  freshness  of  her  frock. 

"  You  think  of  everything,"  said  Joan  as  she  settled 
down  with  a  sigh  of  content. 

All  the  way  to  the  hotel  John  humored  the  boat  so 
that  not  a  drop  of  water  splashed  in.  When  he  took 
Joan's  hand  to  help  her  out,  it  was  hot  and  trembling 
a  little.  He  slipped  on  his  coat,  leaned  over  and  looked 
into  her  eyes ;  she  gave  him  a  warm  glance  and  laughed 
a  nervous  little  laugh.  The  dance  was  already  in  full 
swing  and  as  they  went  up  the  pier  the  music  seemed 


162  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

to  get  into  her  feet  and  tangle  them.  She  laid  one 
hand  on  John's  arm.  "  Not  —  not  too  fast,"  she  said. 

She  was  feeling  all  the  thrills  of  a  girl  going  to  her 
first  big  party,  and  anticipation  was  so  sweet  that  she 
did  not  wish  to  hurry.  She  walked  with  her  head 
hanging,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  little  feet,  and  dreamed 
of  how  she  and  John  would  glide  out  to  the  music  of  a 
waltz.  As  they  entered  the  big  room  she  threw  back 
her  head  and  showed  to  an  admiring  world  a  face  aglow 
with  youth  and  happiness. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  two-step  and  the 
waltz  jogged  along  together  like  a  lonely  married  couple 
of  Malthusian  tendencies,  self-centered  and  self-satis- 
fied. John  had  never  two-stepped  but  he  thought  he 
could  waltz.  As  soon  as  they  were  on  the  floor  he 
turned  to  Joan,  clicked  his  heels  together,  bowed  and 
clasped  his  right  hand  about  her  waist.  With  his  left 
he  caught  her  right  and  extended  it  to  the  full  length 
of  her  arm.  Holding  her  as  far  from  him  as  possible 
so  that  they  formed  an  approximate  equilateral  tri- 
angle, he  began  to  whirl  her  around  in  the  most  ap- 
proved Continental  style,  his  eyes  gazing  approvingly 
on  her  face,  never  before  so  lovely. 

Poor  Joan  danced  a  few  jerky  steps  before  her  brain 
could  readjust  itself  from  dreamland.  A  bewildered 
look  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  wondered  if  this  were 
some  heartless  joke  of  John's ;  then  she  saw  the  look  of 
concern  dawning  in  his  face  and  her  beautiful  house 
of  cards  tumbled  with  a  crash  that  echoed  through  the 
room  —  at  least,  she  thought  it  did.  The  light  died 
from  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks  went  white.  By  a  com- 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  163 

in  on  impulse  they  both  stopped  dancing  and  made  their 
crestfallen  way  to  two  chairs  and  sat  down. 

"  Joan,"  said  John,  "  what  was  the  matter  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  for  her  throat  was  full  of  sobs 
that  she  was  swallowing  as  fast  as  she  could  from 
the  bottom  to  keep  the  top  one  from  coming  out.  Her 
faintly  rounded  breasts  were  heaving  desperately  and 
the  blush  of  ridicule  which  is  about  three  times  as  red 
as  the  blush  of  shame  had  routed  the  pallor  from  her 
cheeks. 

But  there  was  no  ridicule.  The  throng  of  dancers 
had  been  altogether  too  intent  on  its  own  affairs  to  see 
the  tumble  of  Joan's  house  of  cards,  much  less  hear  it. 
As  she  realized  this  small  saving  grace  she  sighed  with 
relief. 

"  Oh,  Joan,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  John. 

She  opened  her  lips  to  answer  but  laughed  shortly 
instead  and  closed  them.  Before  he  could  press  his 
question  the  music  stopped  and  couples  started  press- 
ing for  the  doors.  Joan  and  John  caught  the  eye  of  a 
youth,  none  other  than  the  yacht  skipper  with  whom 
John  had  bandied  words  on  the  lake.  With  him  was 
the  girl  who  had  shared  his  discomfiture. 

A  moment  later  John  looked  up  to  find  the  two  smil- 
ing at  him;  he  recognized  them  and  grinned  back. 
They  approached  and  the  young  man  held  out  his  hand. 
"  My  name  's  Marsten,"  he  said,  "  and  this  is  my  sister, 
Sally.  Won't  you  introduce  us  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  John,  rising.  "  This  is  Miss 
Joan  Tupper  and,  I  'm  John  Bogardus.  We  sailed 
over  from  Tupper's  farm  at  the  other  end  of  the  lake." 


164  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS 

"  In  the  Joan,  eh  ? "  said  the  young  man  with  a 
laugh.  "  You  certainly  put  it  all  over  us  the  other  day. 
When  we  first  caught  sight  of  her  we  thought  she  was 
a  joke.  There  was  a  joke  hanging  around,  all  right, 
but  we  sort  of  misplaced  it." 

"  It  was  her  first  day,"  said  John.  "  I  was  just  feei- 
ing  her  out.  She  's  a  race  horse." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Marsten,  "  we  are  n't  quite  such 
a  bunch  of  landlubbers  as  you  think.  At  first  when  we 
saw  you  coming  along  like  a  plate  edge-up  walking  a 
tight  rope,  we  thought  you  were  just  a  common  garden 
fool  that  did  n't  know  a  boat  could  blow  over,  but  long 
before  you  were  out  of  sight  we  knew  you  'd  have 
wiped  us  if  you  'd  been  sailing  a  bathtub." 

John  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  You  're 
wrong,"  he  said.  "  I  tell  you  she  's  a  race  horse ;  by  a 
fluke,  of  course." 

While  they  argued,  Sally  Marsten  sat  down  beside 
Joan  and  in  five  minutes  had  found  out  all  about  the 
tragedy  that  was  making  her  so  sad.  Sally  looked  up 
at  John  speculatively.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  even  if  he 
can't  dance,  he  's  awfully  good  looking." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  Joan,  absently. 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Sally.  "  You  dance  the  next 
waltz  with  Charlie  —  that 's  my  brother  —  and  after 
that  — " 

The  music  of  another  waltz  started  and  Marsten  be- 
gan to  look  around  the  room  vaguely. 

"  Charlie,"  called  his  sister,  "  you  're  engaged  right 
here  for  this  dance." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  165 

"  Of  course,"  said  Marsten,  stepping  towards  Joan 
with  a  smile. 

She  rose  and  a  moment  later  all  her  dreams  of  this 
longed-for  night  began  to  come  true.  Marsten's  right 
hand  was  spread  high  against  her  back,  holding  her 
firmly  to  him.  With  his  other  hand  he  held  her  right 
loosely  against  his  shoulder.  They  glided  away  not  as 
two,  severally  executing  a  set  figure,  but  as  one  —  one 
with  each  other,  one  with  the  music,  one  with  the  very 
spirit  of  the  dance.  Into  Joan's  face  came  back  the 
happy,  eager  glow  and  her  eyes  grew  dreamy. 

John  stood  and  stared,  first  at  Joan,  then  at  every 
other  girl  in  the  room.  He  had  never  seen  girls  held 
like  that  before,  not  jeunes  filles!  Joan's  cheek  was 
close  to  Marsten's  shoulder,  just  grazing  it,  but  there 
were  other  girls  that  frankly  pillowed  their  fluffy  heads 
on  their  partners'  breasts  and  clung  so  closely  that 
there  really  seemed  no  reason  why  they  should  touch 
their  feet  to  the  floor  at  all. 

"  Macabre  I "  muttered  John. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Sally  Marsten. 

John  turned  around  sharply.  "  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  —  My  mind  was  just  wandering.  May  I  sit 
down  ? " 

She  made  room  for  him  and  John  tried  to  give  her 
all  his  attention,  but  his  eyes  were  constantly  being 
drawn  back  to  the  dancers.  He  had  reason  to  know 
that  he  could  dance  like  that  himself;  he  had  danced 
like  that,  but  with  masked  women,  not  babes.  For 
these  girls  were  babes.  He  did  them  that  justice  as 


166  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

his  eyes  searched  each  face  in  vain  for  the  open  book 
of  knowledge. 

He  might  have  continued  his  observations  till  the 
music  stopped  had  he  not  seen  a  young  man  look  with 
consternation  at  the  idle  Miss  Marsten  and  immediately 
start  tacking  across  the  floor  in  desperate  haste.  John 
turned  to  her.  "  You  must  forgive  me  but  I  've  been 
getting  my  bearings.  Would  n't  you  like  to  finish 
this?" 

Mindful  of  Joan's  tale  of  woe,  Sally  got  up,  groan- 
ing inwardly  as  she  offered  the  toes  of  her  dainty  slip- 
pers to  sacrifice,  but  the  next  moment  she  gasped  with 
amazement,  wondered  what  had  happened,  and  then 
decided  to  give  herself  up  to  the  joy  of  movement  and 
puzzle  things  out  afterwards. 

John  was  not  one  of  those  dancers  who  have  to  warm 
up  to  their  step.  He  swept  his  partner  out  across  the 
floor  to  the  very  throb  of  the  music.  Holding  her  close 
he  bore  her  through  the  maze  of  the  crowded  room  so 
securely  that  she  felt  free,  as  though  they  two  had  more 
room  than  they  needed.  There  were  rushes  and  pauses 
in  his  movement,  but  they  were  like  the  hieroglyphics 
that  hang  on  the  notes  in  music,  they  fitted  in. 

Sally  answered  the  last  chord  of  the  waltz  with  a 
sigh  from  her  heart.  "  Well,"  she  said  as  they  made 
for  their  seats,  "  all  I  've  got  to  say  is  that  you  dance 
as  well  as  you  sail  a  boat." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  John,  eagerly  —  and  started  looking 
around  for  Joan. 


CHAPTEE  XX 

A  GREAT  viveur  once  said  that  any  man  can  sum 
up  his  life  by  counting  the  sensations  he  has  felt 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Under  the  cynicism  was 
the  kernel  of  truth  that  gives  the  sting  to  wit.  As 
long  as  John  lived  he  would  count  his  first  real  waltz 
with  Joan  as  one  of  the  five  great  emotional  surges  of 
his  life. 

During  the  moments  that  he  had  neglected  Sally 
Marsten  to  stare  at  the  dancers,  he  had  been  looking 
through  French  eyes  and  beheld  a  world  of  demi- 
vierges,  vestal  virgins  polluted  by  a  too  intimate  public 
gaze,  fresh  fruit  keeping  just  its  skin  intact  but  busily 
rubbing  off  the  bloom.  But  his  dance  with  Sally  car- 
ried him  away,  he  was  caught  in  the  witchery  of 
rhythmic  motion,  and  the  rush  of  blood  to  the  brain 
that  comes  from  any  exhilarating  movement  raised  him 
above  the  level  of  sane  speculations. 

Whatever  had  been  John's  physical  experience  he 
was  by  nature  clean-minded,  and  in  the  fullness  of  his 
youth  and  of  his  knowledge,  both  open  to  learn  and 
eager  for  illusions.  As  he  took  Joan  in  his  arms  his 
tingling  blood  as  well  as  his  excited  though  puzzled 
brain  were  held  in  control  by  the  memory  that  it  was 
this  same  girl  that  had  turned  upon  him  in  a  rage  be- 
cause he  had  dared  lay  familiar  hands  upon  her  person. 

167 


168  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

But  there  is  a  big  difference  between  control  and 
subjection.  Through  all  that  waltz  John  held  in  his 
emotions  only  as  one  holds  in  a  team  of  blooded  horses 
that  has  had  more  oats  than  exercise  and  is  in  two 
minds  to  bolt  just  for  the  fun  of  the  thing.  From  time 
to  time  he  looked  down  at  Joan's  face  so  intimately 
close,  at  her  hair  that  held  him  within  the  short  radius 
of  its  faintly  fragrant  aura,  and  at  her  rounded  eye- 
lids, drooped  down  as  though  to  curtain  too  palpitating 
thoughts. 

Gradually,  with  her  warm  body  so  trustingly  sur- 
rendered to  his  embrace,  he  felt  a  surge  of  tenderness 
rise  in  him,  a  welling  desire  not  to  harm  but  to  protect. 
This  impulse  to  protect  was  still  strong  in  him  when 
he  and  Joan,  promising  to  come  again,  said  good-by 
to  the  Marstens  and  boarded  their  little  craft.  Soon 
they  were  running  free  before  a  quartering  breeze  and 
John,  steadying  the  tiller  with  his  knee,  was  taking  off 
his  coat. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

For  answer  he  threw  the  coat  around  her  shoulders 
and  tried  to  button  it  under  her  chin. 

"'No,  no,"  cried  Joan.     "You  —  you  take  half." 

He  stared  at  her,  somehow  he  did  not  want  to  laugh. 
"  Let  me  button  it  or  it  will  be  always  blowing  off,"  he 
said. 

"  You  '11  be  cold,"  said  Joan  as  he  sat  down. 

"  Not  if  you  sit  close  to  me." 

"I  —  I  am  sitting  close,"  said  Joan,  laughing  nerv- 
ously and  coming  still  nearer. 

The  breeze,  swirling  from  the  cupped  sail,  caught 


y  JOHN    BOGAEDUS  169 

the  free  side  of  the  coat  and  tossed  it.  John  put  his 
arm  around  the  girl  as  though  to  hold  it  down.  He 
felt  her  body  tremble;  her  lips  parted,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"  Are  you  warm  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded  her  head.     "  Are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

For  a  long  time  they  sailed  in  silence,  their  bodies 
throbbing  against  each  other;  then,  slowly  but  firmly, 
John  drew  her  close  and  closer  to  him.  She  looked  up, 
her  eyes  hazy.  She  was  not  frightened  nor  dismayed, 
for  the  dream  was  sweet.  Their  faces  were  very  near 
together  and  John's  was  coming  nearer.  Their  eyes 
met  and  questioned;  then  Joan  turned  her  head  ab- 
ruptly in  denial.  She  pressed  him  gently  from  her. 

Just  then  the  luff  of  the  sail  slacked  and  there  was 
a  warning  flap.  John  twitched  the  helm  and  sent  the 
boat  back  on  her  course.  Soon  Joan  settled  into  the 
hollow  of  his  shoulder  again  and  so,  with  his  arm 
holding  her  to  him  and  keeping  her  warm,  they  sailed 
in  silence  under  the  full  moon  and  brought  up  at  last 
in  the  shadow  of  the  black  reflected  pines. 

Any  reasonable  person  would  judge  that  the  beat 
of  their  pulse  had  long  since  calmed  down;  but  such 
was  not  the  case.  Take  two  young  hearts,  put  them 
close  together,  so  close  that  they  touch,  and  their  ca- 
pacity for  beating  at  double  quick  time  is  unmeasur- 
able  on  the  dial  of  any  clock.  As  John  helped  Joan 
to  the  little  wharf  that  he  had  made  for  her,  her  hand 
trembled  in  his  grasp  with  the  same  vibration  that  his 
hand  trembled  over  hers. 


170  JOHN   BOGARDTJS 

With  nervous  haste  he  anchored  the  boat  and  stowed 
the  sail,  then  he  sprang  on  the  wharf  and  stopped,  his 
eyes  full  of  the  picture  before  him,  the  same  picture 
that  had  welcomed  him  on  his  first  day  at  the  lake, 
only  softer,  glorified  by  night.  Joan  stood  just  among 
the  pines  and  drew  all  things  upon  her.  Moonlight, 
lake  and  rock-bound  shore,  even  the  high  protecting 
pines,  converged  upon  her  so  that  she  caught  the  eye 
like  a  beam  of  light  in  a  darkened  room. 

John  walked  slowly  toward  her,  his  lips  smiling, 
his  eyes  burning  feverishly.  Bathed  in  the  light  of 
the  moon  she  looked  so  still  and  cold,  so  eternally  fixed, 
it  was  as  though  he  approached  some  phantom  statue, 
adored  by  forest  and  lake  and  night.  But  as  he  drew 
near  and  caught  the  haze  in  her  eyes,  the  quick  rise  and 
fall  of  her  bosom,  and  saw  her  lips  parted  by  tremulous 
breath,  such  a  wave  surged  through  his  veins  as  carried 
him  plunging  forward  with  outstretched  arms,  life 
toward  life,  youth  to  youth. 

Just  before  her  he  paused  as  on  a  heady  verge. 
Their  eyes  met.  Her  feet  did  not  move  but  she  her- 
self swayed  gently  toward  him  as  a  long-stemmed  flower 
sways  toward  the  light.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
crushed  her  to  him.  She  raised  her  face  and  her 
hands,  put  her  hands  around  his  neck.  Their  lips  met 
in  the  ecstasy  of  a  long,  long  kiss.  Then  a  flush  of 
maiden  shame  suddenly  flamed  in  her  cheeks.  She 
dropped  her  head,  pressed  her  face  hard  against  his 
shoulder,  and  sobbed. 

He  held  her  close,  patted  her  back,  and  kissed  her 
hair,  moist  and  tumbled  by  the  wind  but  sweet  and  soft 


JOHN   BOGAEBUS  171 

to  his  lips.  "  Don't  cry,"  he  said.  "  You  must  n't 
cry,  Joan.  It 's  all  right.  I  won't  hurt  you." 

She  stopped  sobbing  suddenly  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  questioning  eyes.  There  was  nothing  there 
but  tenderness,  a  hot  tenderness  such  as  women  love 
best.  She  turned  from  him  and  with  his  arm  about 
her  they  walked  slowly  up  through  the  pines  and  along 
the  sleepy,  dusty  road  that  seemed  to  give  little  puffs 
of  rage  at  being  stirred  and  wakened  at  that  unwonted 
hour.  A  little  way  from  the  house  Joan  disengaged 
herself  and  held  up  her  lips  for  a  childish,  good  night 
kiss. 

"  Don't  come  any  further,  John,"  she  whispered. 
"  And  don't  come  up  in  the  morning.  I  —  I  '11  tell 
them  myself." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JOHN  stood  watching  her  till  she  reached  the  house 
and  she  noticed  it  and  was  pleased.  How  black 
would  have  been  the  ending  of  her  day  of  joy  could 
she  have  known  that  he  stood  thus  rooted  to  the  spot, 
even  as  an  ox  stays  placed  after  being  struck  by  light- 
ning. For  a  moment  he  was  too  dazed  to  move,  too 
dazed  to  think. 

As  Joan  disappeared  from  view  he  turned  as  though 
he  had  been  released  and  stumbled  back  down  the  road. 
Never  had  he  given  marriage  a  thought ;  it  seemed  now 
as  though  for  it  alone  he  had  no  philosophy.  Was  it 
thus  that  marriage  came  upon  men,  swooping  down 
when  they  were  least  upon  their  guard,  drunk  and 
blinded  for  having  sipped  of  the  wine  of  the  flesh  ? 

There  are  thousands  of  men  to  whom  marriage  is 
such  a  natural  consummation  that  they  look  back  upon 
it  and  class  it  along  with  those  landmarks  that  stand  in 
their  lives  like  even  fence-posts  in  a  row,  the  day  they 
had  their  first  tooth  pulled,  the  day  they  put  on  long 
trousers,  the  day  they  had  their  hair  cut  by  a  real*bar- 
ber,  the  awful,  self-conscious  day  on  which  they  joined 
the  church,  and  the  day  they  got  married.  But  these 
men  are  almost  invariably  communal,  they  have  lived 
all  their  lives  in  a  single  circumambiency,  perhaps  have 

had  their  eyes  fixed  on  a  single  girl  from  childhood, 

172 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  173 

and,  if  they  have  n't,  go  meekly  out  to  market  the  min- 
ute their  father  says,  "  Time  you  was  lookin'  fer  a  wife, 
ain't  it  ? " 

There  was  nothing  communal  about  John,  and  never 
had  he  felt  the  lack  of  sustaining  ties,  of  the  bolstering 
of  convention  and  custom  and  habit,  so  sharply  as  he 
felt  it  to-night.  What  had  he  done  ?  What  will-o'-the- 
wisp  had  he  dashed  after  to  find  his  feet  thus  suddenly 
sunk  and  held  in  the  morass  of  a  staid  world's  standard 
of  honor? 

"  You  are  in  honor  bound  to  see  it  through,"  boomed 
Platitude  in  his  ears  and  he  accepted  the  sentence  with 
the  unquestioning  fatalism  of  chivalrous  youth,  but  he 
could  not  keep  his  mind  from  fluttering  wildly  against 
the  bars  of  the  cage  nor  stem  the  mounting  fear  in  his 
breast.  Only  now  he  had  been  free,  free  to  go  and  come 
as  he  willed,  free  as  ever  man  was  to  seize  life  and  mold 
it  in  his  own  hands,  to  battle  with  it  unshackled  and 
conquer  or  be  conquered. 

Now  a  burden  was  upon  him,  a  soft  and  tender  bur- 
den. His  face  almost  cleared  as  he  thought  back  to 
that  glorious  moment  by  the  boathouse.  How  she  had 
clung  to  him,  how  her  moist  lips  had  risen  hot  to  his  kiss 
and  clung  to  his  mouth!  How  warm  had  been  the 
pressure  of  her  rounded,  throbbing  breasts,  how  lovable 
her  trust  and  surrender!  And  the  waltz  in  which  he 
had  first  held  her  close.  Could  he  ever  forget  its  long- 
drawn  sweetness?  Could  life  with  her  be  like  that? 

As  he  reached  the  lake  the  freshening  breeze  struck 
his  brow  with  a  cooling  hand  and  called  to  him  to  forget 
his  woes  and  come  out  and  romp  with  it.  For  a  mo- 


1T4  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

ment  he  stood  and  thought  of  sleep  for  his  tired  body, 
but  his  racing  brain  jeered  at  the  mere  thought  of  slum- 
ber. He  jumped  into  the  boat,  unfurled  the  sail,  and 
glided  away  from  the  shore. 

Again  he  questioned,  Could  life  with  her  be  like 
that?  For  answer  the  little  waves  slapped  noisily  at 
the  bows  of  the  Joan,  the  peak  of  the  sail  bobbed  up  and 
down  in  unceasing  affirmation,  but  the  lake,  the  moon- 
light, the  sentinel  pines,  and  the  embracing  shores 
pressed  to  his  eyes  like  an  empty  frame,  a  frame  that 
once  had  held  a  picture.  He  tried  to  bring  Joan  back, 
to  fix  her  in  this  meaningless  void  and  restore  order 
to  chaos,  but  her  magnetism  was  of  too  small  a  range 
to  bridge  the  short  gap  in  distance  and  time  that  sepa- 
rated her  from  him. 

His  mind  turned  to  more  material  thoughts.  Having 
accepted  his  predicament,  he  tried  to  look  forward  and 
discern  the  road  he  was  to  travel.  Given  a  few  thou- 
sand dollars,  a  young  girl,  a  young  man,  and  a  mar- 
riage in  the  offing,  what  was  to  follow?  Naturally 
a  house.  But  where  ?  He  did  not  know.  A  few  thou- 
sand dollars  may  be  a  widow's  cruse  to  a  strong  young 
man,  but  to  a  strong  young  couple  with  the  basic  at- 
tribute of  a  multiplication  table,  they  too  must  mul- 
tiply to  keep  step.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  Go  back  and 
teach?  With  the  memory  of  freedom  fresh  upon  him 
he  rebelled  at  the  very  thought. 

And  what  of  Joan  ?  What  was  she,  this  tender  thing 
that  held  him  so  fast,  so  inexorably,  in  her  two  small 
hands?  One  day  she  had  blazed  out  at  him  in  anger 
at  his  touch,  the  next  she  had  willingly  given  herself 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  175 

intimately  not  only  to  his  arms  but  to  the  arms  of  half 
a  dozen  strangers.  The  dance  had  gone  to  her  head 
as  it  had  to  his.  He  flushed  and  winced  at  the  thought 
of  her  ever  again  yielding  herself  indiscriminately  to 
the  arms  of  any  newcomer,  conventionally  heralded  by 
an  introduction.  Why  should  he  wince?  Was  it  a 
sign  that  in  truth  he  loved  her  ? 

He  pondered  on  that  thought  a  long  time.  Perhaps 
all  men  felt  the  fear  that  he  was  feeling  on  the  eve  of 
marriage.  Then  his  mind  turned  a  corner.  He  re- 
membered the  fitting  out  of  the  Joan.  Never  before 
had  he  worked  like  that.  Why  had  he  ?  Suddenly  he 
knew.  She  had  driven  him,  driven  him  as  only  a 
woman  can  drive.  As  he  looked  ahead  he  could  see 
her  driving  him  through  the  years,  not  with  remon- 
strances nor  giving  him  of  her  courage,  but  with  that 
tensity  that  he  felt  vaguely  was  part  of  her  fiber,  part 
of  the  tradition  of  the  women  of  her  race,  whose  am- 
bition, long  generations  ago  born  in  thrift,  had  evolved 
a  monster  greed  to  match  the  monster  hoarding  achieve- 
ments of  their  men. 

To  what  herculean  efforts  might  he  not  be  driven  by 
that  same  play  of  locked  hands,  of  a  girl's  face  drawn 
almost  to  age  by  concentration  on  the  little  thing  de- 
sired, of  eyes  that  urged,  commanded,  and  condemned 
with  all  the  variations  of  a  whip  in  the  hand  of  a  mas- 
ter and,  when  all  else  failed,  of  tears  that  bit  like  the 
tip  of  the  lash ! 

The  boat  suddenly  shipped  green  water  over  her 
bows  and  a  plume  of  spray  soaked  him  from  head  to 
foot.  He  laughed  and  stood  up  to  the  challenge. 


176  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

With  the  tiller  held  between  his  ankles  he  paid  out  the 
sheet  and  raced  the  Joan  down  wind  in  long  swirls  till 
the  steadily  growing  waves  threatened  to  poop  her. 
Crouching  at  her  stern,  he  stared  under  the  arching  sail 
and  watched  the  dim  line  of  a  far  shore  coming  toward 
him  rapidly  like  the  shadow  of  a  monster  cloud. 

An  impulse  came  upon  him  to  wreck  the  Joan,  to 
pile  her  up,  smash  her,  on  the  rocky  shore.  He  felt 
himself  yielding  as  though  only  thus  could  he  give 
vent  to  his  rebellion,  when  suddenly  a  memory  came 
upon  him  —  a  memory  of  the  beetling  billows  of  the 
Western  Ocean  in  storm.  With  that  noble  recollection 
a  calmness  settled  on  his  spirit.  He  measured  this 
little  boat,  these  little  waves,  and  the  little  thing  they 
had  moved  him  to  do,  against  the  immensity  of  a  mighty 
sea,  and  in  that  moment  he  was  sobered,  exalted  above 
petty  fears.  With  a  swirl  he  brought  the  Joan  up  all 
standing,  whirled  her  on  her  heel,  and  stood  back  in 
long  tacks  for  the  boathouse. 

His  troubles  seemed  to  grow  smaller,  his  fears  lost 
their  poignancy,  and  he  smiled  indulgently  at  the  con- 
temptuous little  waves  about  him.  He  was  glad  that 
he  had  taken  the  measure  of  his  cowardice,  for  now 
he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  could  face  whatever 
life  brought  him  with  a  steady  mind.  By  a  sheer  effort 
of  his  will  he  turned  his  thoughts  to  Joan,  not  to  her 
strength  nor  to  her  avidity,  but  to  her  weakness,  her 
tenderness,  and  most  of  all  to  that  flash  of  maiden- 
hood recoiling  from  his  touch  that  stood  out  like  a  torch 
amid  the  darkness  of  the  things  he  did  not  know  about 
her  but  had  dreaded. 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

The  chill  of  dawn  was  in  the  air  as  he  laid  down  on 
his  strip  of  carpet  in  the  boathouse  and  covered  him- 
self with  two  dry  coats  from  his  bag.  The  calmness 
that  had  come  upon  him  acted  like  an  opiate  and  he 
slept  soon  and  long.  When  he  awoke  the  sun  was  high 
in  the  heavens.  For  a  moment  he  lay  collecting  his 
thoughts,  then  the  memory  of  all  the  night  before  had 
brought  swept  over  him.  He  remembered  that  Joan 
had  told  him  not  to  come  to  the  house  in  the  morning, 
and  smiled.  What  if  instead  she  had  told  him  to  come 
and  he  had  overslept  the  hour  ? 

With  a  shrug  at  the  high  sun  he  bathed  and  made 
his  toilet  with  special  care,  ate  a  few  biscuits,  and 
strolled  out  among  the  pines.  Had  Joan  too  slept  late  ? 
It  was  comforting  to  think  so.  He  sat  down  and 
smoked,  trying  to  make  himself  forget  that  his  stom- 
ach was  in  need  of  a  great  deal  of  something  hot  and 
filling.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was 
almost  ten  o'clock.  Ten  o'clock  at  the  farm  was  half 
the  day  gone.  He  began  to  feel  a  manly  impatience. 
Then  his  wandering  eyes  fell  on  a  spot  of  white  on  the 
boathouse  door. 

The  spot  of  white  had  never  been  there  before;  he 
was  sure  of  that.  He  looked  at  it  lazily,  wondering 
what  it  was.  Suddenly  it  fluttered;  it  was  as  though 
it  had  beckoned  to  him. 

He  got  up  and  walked  toward  it,  slowly  at  first,  then 
faster,  as  he  saw  that  it  was  the  half  of  a  half  sheet 
of  paper  pinned  with  a  sliver  of  wood  to  a  crack  in  the 
door.  He  took  it  down  and  stared  at  the  words,  with- 
out salutation  or  signature,  that  were  written  on  it 


178  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

in  pencil.  "  I  am  frightened.  Something  came  over 
me  last  night  and  now  I  am  ashamed  and  afraid. 
Please  go  away." 

The  words  looked  so  even  on  paper,  so  round  and  im- 
personal, that  he  could  not  imagine  them  as  coming 
from  Joan.  Not  till  he  repeated  them  over  aloud  with 
little  gasping  pauses,  as  she  would  have  said  them,  did 
they  convince  him.  Then  he  stood  for  a  long  moment, 
staring  out  over  the  lake.  The  bit  of  paper  fluttered 
from  his  fingers.  Presently  he  stooped,  picked  it  up, 
and  read  it  again. 

To  his  amazement  his  first  feeling  was  not  one  of 
relief  but  of  primordial  desire.  He  turned  and  started 
walking  rapidly  up  through  the  pines.  She  was  his; 
he  would  prove  that  she  was  his.  In  his  heart  he  felt 
the  assurance  of  conquest.  Once  she  could  hear  his 
voice,  feel  his  arms  about  her  again,  she  would  forget 
her  shame  and  laugh  at  her  fears.  He  would  go  to  her 
and  show  her. 

Then  he  stopped  suddenly  and  stood  staring  vacantly 
before  him,  not  at  the  pines  nor  the  briar  patch  nor  at 
the  dusty  road  beyond,  but  at  a  vision  of  Joan  as  she 
had  been  during  the  boat-building,  when  her  tender- 
ness and  all  her  appealing  soft  ways  had  hardened  in 
the  crucible  of  a  small  desire  till  they  held  the  cutting 
edge  of  a  diamond. 

He  turned  and  walked  back  toward  the  boathouse,  at 
first  slowly  but  unconsciously  hastening  at  every  step. 
Reaction  had  set  in.  He  remembered  the  sea  of  fears 
through  which  he  had  fought  his  way  the  night  before 
and  now  those  fears  suddenly  came  back  again  bigger 


JOHN   BOGAEBTJS  179 

than  ever.  He  no  longer  likened  them  to  the  con- 
temptible little  waves  of  the  lake;  he  did  not  stop  to 
liken  them  to  anything,  he  was  in  too  much  of  a  hurry. 

He  rushed  to  the  boathouse  and  started  cramming  his 
things  into  the  suitcase.  When  it  was  packed  and 
locked  he  stood  before  the  door  of  the  friendly  little 
shanty  that  had  sheltered  him  so  freely  and  so  well  and 
asked  himself  whither  he  should  go. 

His  few  weeks  on  the  road  had  taught  him  one  tenet 
of  trampdom  —  that  a  hobo  with  a  bag  is  the  most  sus- 
picious of  individuals.  He  pictured  himself  tramp- 
ing with  a  suitcase  and  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  it, 
but  his  lips  straightened  quickly  to  another  thought. 
What  if  Joan  should  change  her  mind?  What  if  he 
should  meet  her  as  he  started  away  and  she  should 
come  toward  him  with  swift  little  rushes  in  her  walk 
and  speech  and  repentance  in  her  big  gray  eyes  ? 

He  picked  up  a  charred  twig  and  printed  beneath  her 
note,  "  I  will  send  the  boat  back,"  fastened  the  slip  of 
paper  to  the  boathouse  door,  tossed  his  suitcase  into  the 
Joan,  and  a  moment  later  set  sail  for  the  Lake  Grand 
Hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AS  he  sailed  the  full  length  of  the  lake  he  had 
plenty  of  time  to  think.  He  studied  the  sudden 
turn  in  his  affairs  and  puzzled  over  the  nature  of  Joan's 
fright.  Had  he  heen  wrong  in  his  judgment  of  her? 
Which  was  the  illusion,  the  Joan  of  the  boat-making 
or  the  Joan  of  the  dance  or  the  Joan  that  had  blazed 
out  in  anger  when  he  picked  her  up?  None.  They 
were  all  there  gathering  slowly  to  the  final  woman,  but 
the  Joan  that  had  blazed  out  in  anger  was  the  Joan  of 
that  frightened  little  note. 

He  suffered  a  twinge  of  remorse,  for  a  moment  he 
felt  himself  belittled,  filled  with  regret  for  the  evapo- 
rated exaltation  that  on  the  night  before  had  come  to 
him  almost  as  a  victory  and  that  now  he  was  finally 
wiping  out  in  flight.  But  the  mood  soon  passed. 
Life  once  more  was  a  cup  that  brimmed  with  freedom, 
and  his  lips  longed  for  the  draft  as  if  the  few  hours 
it  had  been  withdrawn  had  been  parching  years. 

The  hotel  threw  him  back  as  though  into  a  fever, 
for  it  was  reminiscent  of  Joan.  It  held  him  to  the 
memory  of  her,  drew  his  thoughts  back  along  the  way 
he  had  come,  and  for  a  moment  made  him  think  of  bar- 
tering even  freedom  to  hold  her  again  in  his  arms  and 
feel  his  heart  leap  to  the  touch  of  hers.  In  panicky 

haste  he  arranged  with  the  wharfman  about  the  boat, 

180 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  181 

saw  the  Marstens  and  told  them  he  had  been  called 
away,  expressed  his  bag  to  New  York,  and,  once  more 
in  his  travel-stained  suit  of  rough  tweed,  set  his  face 
toward  the  west. 

As  he  took  the  road  he  felt  very  sad  and  lonely  and 
wondered  if  he  could  ever  forget  Joan.  He  did  not 
try  to  forget  her.  At  night  when  he  burrowed  into  a 
haystack  or  stretched  himself  on  the  floor  of  a  barn  or 
the  equally  unyielding  surface  of  the  bed  of  some  vil- 
lage Mansion  Hotel,  he  would  curl  his  own  arm  under 
his  neck,  imagine  that  it  was  her  hand  that  clasped  him, 
and  fall  asleep  to  dreams  of  her. 

He  had  not  yet  learned  that  the  law  of  physical  mag- 
netism knows  no  exception  and  limits  men,  women, 
and  polarized  steel  in  exactly  the  same  terms  of  dis- 
tance and  time.  Consequently  at  the  end  of  a  bare 
three  weeks  he  was  astonished  upon  composing  him- 
self one  night  for  sleep  to  find  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  could  visualize  Joan.  He  remembered  per- 
fectly the  color  of  her  eyes  and  her  hair  and  the  size 
of  her  feet  and  hands,  but  when  he  tried  to  reconstruct 
her  living  image,  summon  her  as  a  breathing  and  pal- 
pitating personality,  he  had  to  struggle  long  and  even 
then  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  was  Joan  and  not  any 
other  nice  young  girl  that  eventually  came  to  his 
dreams. 

For  some  days  he  pondered  on  this  discovery, 
amounting  almost  to  a  shock,  and  then  slipped  so  softly 
beyond  the  furthest  reach  of  Joan's  magnetic  radius 
that  he  was  forever  unconscious  of  the  moment  when 
she  became  a  mere  image  in  the  past,  something  that 


182  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

could  never  be  quite  destroyed  or  forgotten  but  that 
could  be  comfortably  hung  on  the  wall  of  memory  or 
pasted  in  its  scrap  book. 

"  To  forget  a  woman,"  he  had  once  read,  "  go  away 
from  her.  If  she  still  haunts  and  troubles,  go  farther 
away,  for  men  are  held  not  by  women  alone  but  by  the 
tendrils  they  put  out  to  catch  him  who  is  near  —  tears, 
present  joy  and  present  suffering,  children,  loving  care, 
aura,  and  the  little  things  that  become  great  through 
having  been  shared.  In  leaving  a  woman  the  railway 
train  should  be  avoided ;  it  is  too  quick,  it  dislocates  the 
double  antidotes  of  magnetism,  time,  and  distance,  and 
its  effect  is  that  of  the  extraction  of  a  back  tooth  with- 
out gas.  The  ideal  way  of  leaving  a  woman  is  by  walk- 
ing." 

John  had  forgotten  the  prescription.  It  awoke  in 
his  memory  only  when  he  had  hit  by  accident  on  the 
cure.  Now  he  watched  it  work  with  a  lazy  satisfaction. 
New  scenes  came  gradually  to  his  view  and  gradually 
dimmed  the  old,  so  that  when  on  a  day  in  late  autumn 
he  stood  upon  an  eminence  and  looked  down  upon  a 
toy  land  of  milk  and  honey,  of  peaceful  houses  plumed 
with  smoky  spirals,  of  gleaming  water,  rich  loam,  dark 
blotches  of  vast  orchards  still  in  summer  leaf,  and  un- 
dulating carpets  of  paling  vineyards,  he  saw  not  the 
Geneseo  Valley  but  a  quite  new  world,  a  world  whose 
sudden  beauty  made  him  gasp  and  straightway  im- 
agine himself  plunging  to  oblivion  and  content. 

But  it  is  only  to  the  old  that  beauty  spells  content. 
To  the  young  and  to  explorers  in  general  a  thing  of 
beauty  is  but  a  clarion  call.  "  What  a  joy  to  know  that 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  183 

the  world  holds  this !  "  cries  the  fresh  heart  and  imme- 
diately plunges  on  to  the  eternal  question  of  the  open 
road,  "  I  wonder,  does  it  hold  a  still  fairer  jewel  ?  " 

So  John  plunged  not  down  but  on,  and  by  the  com- 
ing of  winter  found  himself  mixed  up  with  the  barb 
wire  entanglements  of  the  Middle  West.  Snow  and 
ice  in  the  open  froze  his  vagrant  soul  and  a  mere  glance 
at  the  doss  houses  of  the  cities,  filled  to  odorous  reple- 
tion with  tramps  driven  in  by  the  inclement  weather, 
terrified  him  and  made  him  pay  his  fare  and  hasten 
southward  on  wheels. 

Temporarily  short  of  cash,  he  decided  to  hibernate 
like  a  bear,  engaged  himself  as  helper  to  a  coal-miner, 
and  burrowed  into  the  earth  during  three  long,  unin- 
teresting months.  The  miners,  subdued  to  a  low  and 
common  level,  dulled  in  mind  and  face  by  their  grimy 
routine,  seemed  to  him  to  crawl  in  and  out  to  their 
labors  like  some  monster  processional  polypod,  domes- 
ticated and  broken  to  the  treadmill.  At  the  first  warm 
breath  of  spring  he  gladly  turned  his  back  on  them  and 
once  more  set  his  face  westward. 

With  many  pauses  and  two  interludes,  one  on  a  cat- 
tle ranch  and  the  other  at  placer  mining  for  gold,  he 
arrived  at  last  on  the  Pacific  coast,  that  haven  of  re- 
tired magnates  and  missionaries,  unretiring  authors,  re- 
mittance men,  health-seekers,  real-estate  agents,  inten- 
sive aliens,  blatant  Native  Sons,  guilded  unions,  and  a 
vast  horde  of  quiet  people  intent  on  taking  a  long  taste 
of  Heaven  here  below. 

He  drifted  naturally  into  San  Francisco,  San  Fran- 
cisco being  one  of  those  world-places  that  you  have  to 


184  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

drift  into  before  you  can  logically  drift  out  to  anywhere 
else.  The  western  metropolis  was  not  itself  in  those 
days;  it  was  in  a  tantrum,  a  rage,  of  reconstruction. 
Van  Ness  Avenue  looked  like  an  undetermined  hybrid, 
like  a  languorous  reptile  that  had  started  to  slough  its 
skin  and  stopped  half  way.  Market  Street  was  one  din 
of  rivet-hammers  and  turmoil;  and  brick-layers,  beg- 
gars on  horseback  at  a  dollar  and  a  half  an  hour,  were 
threatening  to  oust  the  cream  of  the  Forty-niners  from 
Nob  Hill. 

On  the  whole  it  was  not  a  restful  place  save  for  the 
redeeming,  peaceful  sea.  Blue  water  and  untrammeled 
distance  always  made  John  gasp  for  breath  and  his 
heart  swell.  He  made  only  a  pretense  of  looking  for 
a  shore  job,  coming  back  once  and  again  to  the  water- 
front where  he  could  watch  the  varied  craft,  get  the 
smell  of  foreign  lands,  and  speculate  on  the  deep-sea 
boats'  personalities  and  histories. 

He  looked  idly  for  the  Alexandrine  and  was  glad  he 
did  not  find  her,  for  the  warm  Pacific  slope  had  al- 
ready laid  its  soft  charm  upon  him  and  held  without 
binding  him.  "  Go,"  it  said  continually,  "  but  don't 
go  far."  He  joined  the  union  and  shipped  as  an  able 
seaman  for  short  coast  runs  that  ate  up  a  year,  mostly 
in  bringing  down  fragrant  cargoes  of  redwood  for  trans- 
shipment or  the  inland  trade.  For  a  month  he  be- 
came a  fruit  picker  and  for  another  a  wanderer  with  a 
burro  in  the  hills,  a  camper,  not  a  tramp. 

Then,  on  an  evil  day,  he  joined  a  little  steamer  bound 
for  Panama,  Callao,  and  the  run  back.  Straightway 
he  felt  demeaned  as  though  this  pounding  in  a  bee-line 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  185 

to  a  destination  in  an  atmosphere  of  grease,  steam,  and 
soot  were  dragging  him  down  from  the  high  free  plane 
of  the  Alexandrine.  He  was  happy  only  during  his 
watch  at  the  wheel  and  even  then  got  merely  the  atten- 
uated sensations  of  a  motorist  driving  a  street-car  on 
undeviating  tracks.  At  Callao  he  was  reluctantly 
granted  shore-leave  for  a  day,  but  three  hours'  wander- 
ing about  the  filthy  port  sent  him  on  board  again, 
anxious  for  morning  and  the  hour  of  departure. 

During  the  last  three  days  of  the  voyage  back  to  San 
Francisco  a  lassitude  fell  on  him  that  he  could  not  shake 
off.  Once  in  port  he  turned  over  his  kit  to  a  boarding 
house  master  but  refused  to  follow  himself.  He  felt 
stifled  and  plunged  forward  eagerly  as  though  just  be- 
yond he  must  find  fresh  air.  A  street-car  stopped  in 
front  of  him.  Feeling  suddenly  giddy  he  boarded  it 
and  sat  down. 

His  head  ached  violently  and  he  stared  out  of  the  car 
and  clung  desperately  to  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front 
of  him.  Even  in  the  open  car,  the  air  seemed  stifling. 
He  climbed  out  and  walked  away,  wandering  finally 
through  a  wide  gate  into  what  appeared  to  be  a  park, 
and  sat  down  on  the  first  bench.  "  What  has  come  over 
me  ?  What  has  come  over  me  ?  "  he  repeated  aloud  as 
he  strove  against  a  feeling  of  nausea. 

A  moment  later  he  was  aware  of  a  gentleman  with 
a  long  beard  just  touched  with  gray  and  wearing  a  wide- 
brimmed  soft  hat  and  a  worn  frock  coat.  The  gentle- 
man stopped  before  him,  stared  at  him,  and  said  with 
an  astounded  air,  "  Bless  my  soul !  "  He  felt  John's 
pulse  at  the  wrist  and  laid  a  hand  that  felt  very  cold 


186  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

against  his  brow;  then  he  helped  him  to  his  feet;  led 
him  out  of  the  garden,  and  called  a  cab.  As  they  drove 
along  the  streets  the  jolting  sent  flashes  of  unendurable 
pain  through  John's  aching  head  and  he  groaned.  The 
stranger  took  his  hand  and  held  it.  Every  once  in  a 
while  he  would  say,  "  Bless  my  soul !  "  absently,  as 
though  his  thoughts  were  very  busy  with  other  things 
than  words. 

The  cab  turned  away  from  the  flat  shore-front, 
crawled  up  and  up,  inch  by  inch,  along  a  narrow, 
twisting  street,  and  came  to  a  stop  at  a  gate  that  opened 
on  a  long  flight  of  steps.  The  gentleman  talked  pleas- 
antly and  pleadingly  with  the  cabman,  who  reluctantly 
left  his  horses  and  helped  with  John.  At  last  they 
came  out  upon  a  little  lawn  shaded  by  big  trees,  on  the 
farther  side  of  which  stood  a  large  house  with  a  wide, 
open  door.  From  the  door  a  woman  hurried  out  to 
meet  them. 

"  What  is  it,  Paul  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

The  stranger  stared  at  her  with  the  naive  look  of 
astonishment  with  which  he  had  first  cried,  "  Bless  my 
soul !  "  to  John.  "  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  found  him  like 
this,  terribly  ill,  and  he  was  saying,  '  What  has  come 
over  me  ?  What  has  come  over  me  ? '  So  —  so  I 
brought  him  home." 

A  look  of  fear  flashed  in  the  woman's  eyes,  then  she 
smiled  and  said,  "  Bring  him  in." 

.  John  was  aware  of  the  cries  of  romping  children, 
suddenly  hushed,  of  a  darkened  room,  a  soft  bed  and 
gentle  hands  settling  him  comfortably  against  cool  pil- 
lows. Later  came  a  doctor  and  soon  after  a  sudden 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  187 

com  motion  in  the  house,  hurried,  frightened  whispers, 
a  flurry  of  opening  and  shutting  drawers  and  closets, 
then  the  soft  voice  of  a  mother  calling  good-by  from  the 
window.  "  No,  dears,  you  can't  come  in.  I  '11  kiss 
you  twice  when  you  come  back.  Be  good.  Don't  give 
Mrs.  Bartle  any  trouble  and  mind  Pauline."  After 
that  there  was  silence,  the  long  silence  of  days  and 
nights  on  end  that  watches  and  helps  in  a  fight  for  life. 

Three  weeks  later  John  awoke  one  morning  to  find 
the  room  flooded  with  light.  He  looked  out  at  the  blue 
sky,  at  the  green  trees  nodding  to  a  cool  sea  breeze, 
and  with  a  memory  of  nightmare  still  upon  him, 
laughed  in  his  heart  and  thanked  God.  The  door 
opened  and  a  young  man  stepped  in  briskly.  His  quick, 
sure  movements  seemed  out  of  tune  with  his  face,  grave 
and  heavy  until  he  smiled. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  how  do  you  feel  about  it 
now?" 

"  I  feel  all  right,"  said  John,  eagerly.  "  Are  you  the 
doctor  ? " 

The  young  man  nodded.     "  Dr.  McNeil." 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  for  pulling  me  through,"  said 
John.  "  What  was  it  ?  " 

"Me?"  said  the  doctor.  "I  didn't  pull  you 
through.  Want  to  see  what  you  look  like  ? "  He 
picked  up  a  hand-mirror  and  held  it  before  John's  eyes. 

John  stared  at  the  reflection  in  dismay,  not  at  the 
pallor  nor  at  the  gauntness  of  his  face,  nor  at  the  shad- 
ows  under  his  eyes,  but  at  the  horrible  scrubby  beard 
he  had  grown.  "  Bring  me  a  razor,  please,"  he  said 
suddenly  and  started  to  get  out  of  bed. 


188  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

"  Stop  that,"  said  the  doctor,  sharply.  "  We  '11  have 
a  barber  for  you  to-morrow,  perhaps,  or  next  day. 
Look  again  —  just  under  your  left  temple." 

John  did  as  he  was  bidden.  "  Why,"  he  said  with  a 
smile,  "  I  've  grown  a  dimple !  "  Then  the  smile  sud- 
denly left  his  face  and  he  stared  questioningly  at  the 
doctor. 

"  Just  one  dimple,"  said  McNeil  as  he  laid  aside  the 
mirror.  "  If  it  had  n't  been  for  the  nursing  you  got, 
the  nursing  that  pulled  you  through,  it  might  have  been 
a  thousand  dimples." 

John's  lips  formed  slowly  on  a  terrible  word. 
"Smallpox?" 

The  doctor  nodded  and  smiled.  "  You  're  in  the 
house  of  the  Reverend  Paul  Adams  Bradley,  retired 
missionary  to  the  heathen,  specializing  now  on  any- 
thing down  and  out,  and  of  his  wife  Faith." 

"  What  a  splendid  name  for  her,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,  is  n't  it  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Her  name 
wasn't  Faith  originally.  He  says  he  started  calling 
her  that  the  day  she  promised  to  marry  him  and  now 
nobody  knows  what  misnomer  she  got  at  the  altar." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  children,"  said  John.  "  She 
turned  out  her  children,  did  n't  she  ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded.  "  They  would  n't  let  you  be 
carried  to  the  hospital  —  not  after  you  'd  tumbled  into 
the  Reverend  Paul's  arms  that  way.  They  believe  in 
guidance." 

John  nodded.  He  was  feeling  drowsy.  "  It 's  a 
great  thing  to  be  a  doctor,"  he  murmured.  "  You 
know  what  the  rest  of  us  only  learn  by  accident." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  189 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  leaning  over  him. 

John's  eyes  lit  up  for  a  moment.  "  That  the  meas- 
ure of  human  courage  has  never  yet  quite  been  taken/' 
he  answered,  and  slept. 


BOOK  III 


Here  is  amber.  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  MORNING  came  when  John  was  bathed,  shaved, 
slipped  into  one  of  the  Reverend  Paul's  old-fash- 
ioned night-gowns  of  snowy  linen,  and  propped  on  a 
mountain  of  pillows,  to  hold  his  first  formal  reception. 

On  this  morning  the  Reverend  Paul  popped  in  for  a 
word  or  two,  and  twice  Faith  Bradley  stopped  for  a 
nod  and  a  smile  between  household  duties.  These  two 
were  long  since  familiar  figures  to  John ;  they  were  the 
anchors  to  which,  consciously  and  unconsciously,  he 
had  moored  his  mind  and  ridden  out  a  long  storm  on  a 
lea  shore.  He  had  put  a  mighty  strain  on  them  but 
they  had  held  as  though  bedded  in  rock.  But  presently 
they  two  ushered  in  new  faces,  two  little  children  of 
six  and  seven  with  wide  eyes  and  excited,  parted  lips, 
each  led  by  the  hand  by  Pauline. 

Pauline  was  tall  and  golden  haired,  with  gray-blue 
eyes  that  looked  as  if  they  could  never  falter.  She 
was  only  twenty-two  but  seemed  unusually  mature  in 
body  and  mind.  She  was  not  solemn  but  she  was 
grave;  even  her  smile  was  grave,  so  that  it  added  to 
her  dignity  as  well  as  softened  it. 

The  Reverend  Paul's  eyes  lingered  on  her.  "  This," 
he  said,  "  is  Pauline,  our  first-born."  He  laid  his 

hands  on  the  heads  of  the  two  restless  children,  a  boy 

193 


194  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

and  a  girl.  "  And  these,"  he  went  on  with  the  naive 
look  of  astonishment  he  so  often  wore,  "  are  a  double- 
barreled  answer  to  prayer,  sir.  They  came  long  after. 
Tell  your  name,"  he  said  to  the  boy,  patting  his  head. 

"  Ike,"  said  the  youngster,  promptly. 

The  Reverend  Paul  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  mildly,  "  his  name  is  Isaac.  And  you 
tell  yours,  dear." 

The  little  girl  stuttered  in  her  haste  to  comply  and 
the  result  was  something  that  sounded  like  "  Kwist- 
een!" 

Her  father  nodded  his  head.  "  That 's  it,"  he  said. 
"  Her  name  is  Kitty." 

"  Christine,  you  mean,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  said  the  Reverend  Paul.  "  Did 
I  say  Kitty?  Well,  I  always  do  call  her  Kitty  in  the 
morning.  Now,  young  man,"  he  went  on,  "  it 's  your 
turn.  What  do  you  call  yourself  in  the  morning  ?  " 

John  felt  that  if  he  had  been  standing  he  would  have 
been  swept  off  his  feet.  Was  it  possible  that  these  peo- 
ple, who  already  were  part  and  parcel  of  his  life,  to 
whom  he  already  owed  life  and  was  going  to  owe  more, 
did  not  know  his  name?  He  stared  at  them  all  and 
spoke  like  a  child.  "  My  name  is  John,"  he  said. 

Ike  and  Kitty  repeated  it  gravely  to  each  other  as 
though  it  settled  finally  a  long  disputed  point.  Pau- 
line smiled  and  settled  her  eyes  on  John  expectantly. 
He  looked  steadily  back  at  her  and  spoke  to  her  alone 
as  if  she  had  questioned  him  aloud,  "  John  Bogardus." 
He  paused  but  she  still  watched  him.  "  Able  seaman," 
he  went  on  and  paused  again.  "  Formerly,"  he  added 


JOHN    BOGARDUS  195 

heavily,  "  assistant  university  professor  of  Eomance 
languages." 

Pauline's  smile  brightened.  It  was  like  a  light  shin- 
ing in  her  face.  "  That  was  when  you  were  young, 
was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  grinning  suddenly,  "  that  was  be- 
fore I  was  young." 

"  That 's  enough,  children,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  and 
bundled  them  out  of  the  room,  including  the  Reverend 
Paul.  She  pulled  her  big  work-basket  that  had  stood  in 
that  room  for  many  a  day  near  the  bed,  sat  down  fac- 
ing John,  and  started  darning  a  stocking.  He  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  brown  and  soft  with  the  glowing 
penumbra  of  the  near-sighted.  For  a  long  time  she  was 
silently  busy;  then  she  looked  up  to  see  tears  coursing 
down  John's  thin  cheeks. 

She  gave  a  little  gasp,  dropped  her  work,  and  laid 
her  hands  on  one  of  his.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she 
asked,  her  eyes  very  close  to  his  face. 

John  tried  hard  to  smile.  "  Nothing,"  he  said 
weakly.  "  I  was  only  trying  to  think  of  words  with 
which  to  thank  you,  but  there  's  something  in  me  so 
big  that  it  can't  come  out  in  —  in  words;  it  just  drib- 
bles out  of  my  eyes." 

"  My  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  "  don't  think  of  it 
any  more  —  not  that  way.  If  things  like  you  did  n't 
happen  once  in  a  while  Paul  and  I  would  be  broken- 
hearted. What  would  one  do  in  a  world  without  sick- 
ness and  trouble  and  lonely  hearts  all  looking  for  an 
open  door?  How  could  one  be  happy  if  these  things 
that  tie  us  all  together  were  wiped  out  ?  " 


196  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

The  tears  had  dried  on  John's  cheeks  and  his  eyes 
had  a  gleam  of  mischief  in  them  when  he  said,  "  Better 
look  out.  What  about  heaven  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bradley  was  grave  for  a  moment.  "  Of 
course,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  about  heaven  except 
that  it  will  surely  be  right."  Then  she  smiled  and  her 
eyes  answered  the  gleam  in  his.  "  Shall  we  have  a  se- 
cret together,  just  we  two  ?  I  '11  tell  you.  Feeling  as 
I  do  down  here  I  'm  not  really  looking  forward  to 
heaven.  I  'm  so  afraid  I  '11  mope."  They  laughed 
softly  and  became  friends. 

In  the  days  that  followed  John  was  gradually  handed 
over  to  Pauline  and  the  children.  From  little  things 
that  they  let  slip  he  gathered  that  the  Reverend  Paul 
and  his  wife,  Faith,  were  taken  up  with  a  mountain  of 
neglected  duties  that  had  grown  like  a  Jack's  beanstalk 
during  the  three  weeks  the  two  had  been  cut  off  from 
their  busy  life.  Even  so,  not  a  morning  nor  an  after- 
noon passed  without  his  getting  a  glimpse  of  Faith  and 
hearing  at  least  one  "  Bless  my  soul !  "  from  the  Rev- 
erend Paul,  who  seemed  equally  astounded  by  the  least 
mercies  of  God  and  by  the  occasional  manifestations  of 
an  active  devil.  When  he  was  informed  by  Ike  that 
the  gardener's  lady  pig  had  given  birth  to  nine  twins 
his  "  Bless  my  soul !  "  was  own  brother  to  the  explosion 
he  made  when  later  it  was  announced  in  awestruck 
tones  that  the  gentleman  pig  had  destroyed  his  off- 
spring. 

A  frequent  visitor  was  Doctor  McNeil,  who  alone 
seemed  to  think  that  he  had  no  proprietary  rights  over 
John.  He  would  go  through  much  formality  in  en- 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  197 

tering  the  room,  knocking  on  the  open  door,  and  con- 
sulting gravely  in  whispers  with  Ike  and  Christine  as 
to  whether  their  patient  was  able  to  see  him.  Once, 
when  they  were  alone,  John  complained.  "  You  're  not 
like  a  doctor  at  all.  You  never  feel  my  pulse  or  ask 
me  to  stick  out  my  tongue.  You  don't  even  take  any 
pride  in  me." 

"  Never  keep  a  doctor  longer  than  you  need  him," 
said  McNeil.  "  It 's  depressing.  I  don't  come  here 
as  a  doctor." 

But  of  all  the  people  that  entered  the  room  Pauline 
stood  out  as  one  who  took  absolute  possession.  It  was 
as  though  she  resented  the  white-hot  courage  of  her 
father  and  mother  in  battling  alone  with  the  virulent 
scourge  and  wished  to  snatch  her  share  of  sacrifice  in 
long  patient  hours  beside  the  wounded.  John  loved 
her  presence  —  while  she  was  in  the  room  his  eyes  sel- 
dom left  her  —  but  nevertheless  he  felt  himself  belittled 
in  the  knowledge  that  he  owed  her  nearness  entirely  to 
his  illness. 

She  seemed  protected  from  familiarity  beyond  any 
human  being  he  had  ever  met.  He  saw  that  to  him 
she  felt  herself  a  nurse  —  a  nurse  to  his  body,  to  his 
spirit,  and  to  his  mind  when  it  got  restive  with  whirling 
in  a  circle.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  and  he  were  two 
magnetic  poles  cut  off  from  each  other  by  a  suspended 
current,  and  that  that  was  why  his  mind  whirled  in  a 
short  circle  as  every  mind  must  till  it  finds  the  contact 
that  sends  it  on  the  long  journey  of  an  endless  circuit. 

Pauline  read  to  him,  talked  to  him,  made  him  talk. 
He  told  them  about  his  friend.  Captain  Ike  Carr,  and 


198  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

rambled  out  long  snatches  of  his  life  while  Ike,  feeling 
important  at  sharing  a  name  with  such  a  big  man  as 
the  captain,  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  kicking  his 
heels,  and  Christine  sat  in  Pauline's  lap,  sucking  her 
thumb  and  staring  wide-eyed  at  nothing  in  particular 
until  her  patience  was  exhausted.  Then  she  would 
suddenly  clasp  her  hands  together  and  say  with  an  en- 
trancingly  pleading  smile.  "  Once  upon  a  time." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  would  shout  Ike.  "  Once  upon  a  time ! 
Once  upon  a  time !  " 

John  never  failed  to  answer  that  cry.  He  would 
take  a  child  on  each  side  of  him,  turn  his  eyes  resolutely 
away  from  Pauline,  and  begin, 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  boy  and  a  little 
girl  and  they  had  a  pony.  When  he  was  born  his  feet 
were  white  and  he  had  a  white  streak  on  his  nose  and 
his  mother  was  terrified  because  all  her  life  she  had 
heard  people  say, 

'  Four  white  feet  and  one  white  nose, 
Chop  off  his  head  and  give  him  to  the  crows.' 

But  before  any  one  had  time  to  see  him  she  snatched 
him  up  and  dipped  him  in  a  dark  closet  that  was  so 
dark  that  it  was  pitch-black  and  when  she  took  him  out 
he  was  black  as  night  all  over,  only  blacker." 

"  Blacker  than  midnight  ?  "  asked  Ike. 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "blacker  than  midnight.  The 
little  girl's  name  was  Tot  because  she  was  so  very  little 
and  the  little  boy's  name  was  Pot  because  he  was  so 
very  round  and  fat.  Tot  and  Pot  thought  of  a  lot  of 
names  for  the  pony  but  finally  they  decided  to  call  him 
Snowball  because  he  was  so  very  black. 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  199 

"  Snowball  was  a  wonderful  pony.  He  could  jump 
as  high  as  a  house  only  higher,  and  he  could  stay  in  the 
air  just  as  long  as  Tot  and  Pot  could  hold  their  breath. 
Sometimes  he  jumped  twenty  miles  and  sometimes  five. 
When  he  was  on  the  ground  he  could  gallop  so  fast  that 
Tot  and  Pot  would  be  right  back  where  they  started 
from  before  they  knew  they  had  gone." 

"  My !  "  said  Christine  around  the  thumb  in  her 
mouth. 

"  On  wash  days  and  baking  days  when  mother  was 
really  too  busy  to  bother  with  children,"  continued 
John,  "  Snowball  would  take  Tot  and  Pot  so  far  that 
they  saw  lions  and  tigers  and  elephants  and  ant-eaters 
and  sea-serpents  and  fairies  and  dragons,  but  they 
were  n't  afraid  because  Snowball  could  go  so  fast  that 
he  almost  had  to  stop  for  the  wild  beasts  to  see  him  at 
all.  Sometimes  when  he  was  thirsty  he  would  stop 
long  enough  to  make  a  lion's  mouth  water  and  then 
have  a  drink  and  run  off  before  the  lion  had  time  to 
grab  him. 

"  When  he  did  this  Tot  used  to  laugh  and  clap  her 
hands,  but  Pot  used  to  whimper  because  he  said  the 
lion  always  looked  just  at  him  when  his  mouth  was 
watering,  and  then  Tot  would  laugh  again  and  say, 
'  That 's  because  you  're  so  round  and  fat,  round  and 
fat ! '  This  always  made  Pot  very  angry  and  he  used 
to  pinch  Tot  and  she  could  n't  pinch  him  back  because 
his  skin  was  filled  so  tight." 

"  He  was  a  mean  little  boy,"  said  Christine. 

"  Not  very  mean,"  said  John.  "  Snowball  had  a 
very  long  mane  and  a  very  long  tail  and  a  forelock  that 


200  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

hung  way  down  in  front  of  his  eyes.  When  the  chil- 
dren quarreled  he  would  shake  his  mane  and  his  tail 
and  his  forelock  and  say,  e  Some  day  you  '11  be  sorry.' 

"  All  the  wild  beasts  tried  very  hard  to  catch  Snow- 
ball on  account  of  Pot  being  so  fat  but  none  of  them 
could  run  fast  enough  or  jump  high  enough,  and  Snow- 
ball used  to  laugh  like  a  whinny  every  time  they  tried. 
But  there  was  a  very  old  dragon  that  could  n't  run  or 
jump  but  he  was  very  wise.  He  was  so  big  that  he 
could  swallow  an  elephant  without  taking  a  glass  of 
water  to  wash  him  down  and  he  was  so  long  that  once 
he  met  his  own  tail  and  ate  it  before  he  felt  the  terrible 
pain  and  knew  he  was  chewing  on  himself." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Christine,  her  dreamy  eyes  suddenly 
wide.  "Oh!" 

"  He  did  n't  mind  really,"  proceeded  John,  calmly, 
"  because  it  was  so  seldom  he  saw  his  tail  that  he 
scarcely  missed  it. 

"  This  old  dragon  was  very  sly  and  always  kept  his 
mouth  open.  He  had  often  seen  Snowball  and  the 
children  and  every  time  he  looked  at  Pot  he  sighed  so 
that  the  children  thought  it  was  a  thunderstorm  coming 
and  told  Snowball  to  go  home  quickly.  But  one  day 
the  dragon  hid  all  of  his  long  body  in  a  very  great  for- 
est and  laid  his  mouth  so  that  it  looked  like  a  great 
arch  over  the  roadway  leading  into  the  wood.  He 
knew  that  Snowball  often  came  along  that  way.  Then 
the  dragon  shut  his  eyes  so  he  would  not  see  Pot  and 
sigh. 

"  Sure  enough  Snowball  came  galloping  along,  shak- 
ing his  forelock  and  his  tail  and  his  mane  and  saying, 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  201 

'  Some  day  you  '11  be  sorry/  because  Pot  and  Tot  had 
been  quarreling  disgracefully.  And  they  were  sorry 
that  very  day  because  Snowball  never  saw  that  the 
great  arch  was  the  dragon's  mouth  and  so  he  galloped 
straight  in  and  the  wicked  old  dragon  shut  his  monster 
jaws  and  they  creaked  so  loud  that  the  terrible  screams 
of  Tot  and  Pot  — " 

"  ~No  I  No  I "  cried  Christine,  the  ready  tears 
springing  from  her  excited  eyes. 

"No!"  yelled  Ike.  "No,  John!"  He  pounded 
the  bed  with  his  fists  and  emitted  a  howl  that  made 
Christine's  sobs  pale  to  no  sound  at  all.  Even  Pauline 
moved  one  hand  pleadingly. 

John  shook  the  two  children.  "  Now  don't  be  silly," 
he  said.  "  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  Snowball  was  a 
wonderful  pony?  Just  you  listen."  The  children 
suddenly  swallowed  their  tears. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  continued  John,  "  the  wicked 
dragon  shut  his  monster  jaws  and  they  creaked  so  loud 
that  the  terrible  screams  of  Tot  and  Pot  were  n't  any 
louder  than  two  feathers  in  a  bed.  But  what  hap- 
pened? The  minute  the  dragon  shut  his  mouth  it  be- 
came so  very  dark  inside  that  he  simply  could  n't  find 
Snowball  to  swallow  him  because  Snowball  was  as  black 
as  night  only  blacker.  So  the  dragon  opened  his  mouth 
just  to  let  in  a  little  light  and  quicker  than  a  flash  Snow- 
ball galloped  out  and  even  stopped  to  kick  the  dragon 
in  each  eye  just  to  teach  him  a  lesson." 

"Gee!"  said  Ike. 

"  Goodie !  "  said  Christine  and  sighed. 

"  And  then  ?  "  cried  Ike  eagerly. 


202  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

"  And  then,"  said  Pauline,  giving  John  a  smile  that 
brought  her  nearer  to  him  than  she  had  ever  been  be- 
fore, "  Tot  and  Pot  did  just  what  you  're  going  to  do. 
They  went  straight  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  next  day  John  left  his  room  for  the  veranda, 
embowered  in  honeysuckle,  a  great  climbing  yel- 
low rose,  fuchsias  and  half  a  dozen  flowering  shrubs  he 
could  not  name,  all  jumbled  together  but  apparently 
happy.  Through  this  curtain  of  leaf  and  bloom  the 
gardener  had  cut  vistas  like  port-holes,  that  looked  out 
over  the  roofs  of  the  city  to  the  bay  lying  so  far  below 
that  it  appeared  continually  still,  holding  in  its  grasp 
dark  emerald  islands  and  little  black  spots  of  boats 
set  sometimes  in  tourmaline,  sometimes  in  amethyst 
and  jade,  sometimes  in  robin's-egg  blue,  dappled  with 
the  clouds  of  heaven. 

Here  John  spun  his  yarns  of  Tot  and  Pot  by  the 
hour,  talked  with  McNeil  when  he  dropped  in  between 
professional  visits,  smiled  when  the  Reverend  Paul 
stopped  to  hear  some  bit  of  news  and  cry,  "  Bless  my 
soul !  "  watched  Pauline  when  occasion  offered,  and  got 
well  so  suddenly  that  he  was  dismayed.  He  had  to 
remonstrate  with  himself  for  not  being  ready  to  get 
well  or,  in  plainer  words,  for  not  wanting  quite  yet 
to  up  anchor  and  leave  that  quiet  haven. 

But  no  one  suggested  by  word  or  look  that  there  was 
any  reason  why  he  should  go;  quite  the  contrary. 
When  the  evening  came  that  he  could  join  the  family 

203 


204  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

table  for  supper  it  was  made  a  great  occasion  with 
John  as  the  guest  of  honor  and  Dr.  McNeil  as  a  sort  of 
guest  in-attendance. 

From  the  hour  of  that  meal  John  felt  himself  on  a 
new  footing  of  intimacy  and  directly  subjected  to  in- 
fluences whose  strength  lay  in  minute  but  constant 
accumulations.  The  effect  of  the  force  of  any  family 
circle  on  an  intruder,  whether  it  be  for  evil  or  good, 
is  never  suddenly  measured,  but  such  were  the  special 
conditions  of  John's  upbringing  that  his  entrance  into 
the  full  stream  of  the  Bradleys'  home  life  was  more 
in  the  nature  of  a  plunge  than  of  a  gradual  immersion. 

When  for  the  first  time  he  got  up  from  his  knees 
after  evening  family  prayer,  done  in  the  good  old 
patriarchal  style  with  gardener,  servants,  children,  and 
the  strangers  within  the  gates  gathered  together  in  a 
homely  homogeneity,  his  mind  was  promptly  in  a  tur- 
moil and  he  was  conscious  that  he  swam  in  a  troubled 
tide  even  though  he  did  not  know  whither  it  bore  him. 
In  the  days  that  followed  this  feeling  did  not  leave  him 
for  the  simple  reason  that  his  struggle  was  fundamen- 
tal. 

While  the  youths  of  his  generation  in  American  uni- 
versities had  but  one  rule  of  life  and  that  a  determina- 
tion to  do  nothing  that  would  queer  their  chance  for  a 
fraternity  or  an  upper-class  club,  John's  student  days 
had  been  strangely  tinged  by  patronizing  prattle  of 
Auguste  Comte  and  positivism;  Spencer  and  the  syn- 
thetic philosophy  with  its  ethical  acrobatics,  morality 
trying  to  ride  the  essentially  non-moral  hobby-horse  of 
evolution;  Haeckel  and  the  materialists;  and  all  the 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  205 

school  that  stands  for  the  chaos  of  orthodoxy  splitting 
itself  wide  open  on  the  rock  of  science. 

John  had  never  had  occasion  to  take  sides.  Onto- 
logically  he  belonged  to  an  epoch,  to  a  generation  that 
sits  at  the  gates,  ponders,  discusses,  and  tries  to  disen- 
tangle the  skein  that  led  to  conflict,  and  strike  the  bal- 
ance of  the  battle  in  the  calm  of  a  metaphysical  lull. 
All  religion  to  him  was  an  abstract  and  he  thought  of 
it  in  terms  of  phenomena.  He  was  not  intentionally 
irreligious,  certainly  not  agnostic;  he  was  simply  the 
product  of  an  atmosphere  that  was  the  direct  negation 
of  everything  that  the  Bradleys  stood  for. 

There  was  one  point  about  the  Eeverend  Paul  that 
commanded  immediate  respect.  He  belonged  to  an 
old  school  that  built  its  foundations  broadly  on  the  hu- 
manities, to  a  stalwart  church  that  has  never  juggled 
its  ministers  direct  from  plow  to  pulpit.  He  had 
climbed  through  university  as  well  as  theological  school 
before  he  considered  himself  fit  to  answer  the  call  of 
God  and  that  he  had  studied  to  some  purpose  in  those 
far-off  days  was  evidenced  by  the  gummy  and  finger- 
blurred  state  of  his  Hebrew  Bible  as  well  as  by  the  worn 
condition  of  his  pocket  Greek  Testament. 

While  such  learning  is  heavily  discounted  in  the 
fevered  erudition  market  of  to-day,  it  is  nevertheless 
true  that  it  imparted  to  its  adherents  a  rare  polish  like 
the  flower  of  time-weathered  oak  and  made  an  appeal  to 
intellect  quite  apart  from  any  considerations  of  creed. 
On  this  ground  of  a  foundation  deeply  laid,  a  single 
subject  well  learned,  John  could  meet  the  Keverend 
Paul  in  immediate  fellowship. 


206  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS 

More  than  once  when  he  was  passing  the  open  door 
of  the  study  where  sat  the  Reverend  Paul  before  the 
open  Book,  longing  like  a  child  at  its  lessons  to  be  in- 
terrupted, he  would  be  arrested  by  a  sharp  cough  and 
as  he  paused  the  Reverend  Paul  would  turn  around 
with  a  sigh,  suddenly  smile  and  say,  "  Why,  come  in. 
Bless  my  soul !  How  time  flies,  eh  ?  " 

John  was  amused  and  drawn  by  this  little  comedy ;  he 
would  enter  the  sanctum  and  playfully  attack  his  host 
and  friend,  so  securely  entrenched  behind  Bible,  Testa- 
ment, flat-topped  desk,  flowing  beard  and  gold-rimmed 
glasses  pushed  well  up  on  a  wrinkled  forehead  to  give 
the  twinkle  in  his  eyes  free  play. 

From  McNeil,  John  had  learned  various  things  about 
the  Bradleys  and  among  others  the  main  facts  of  the 
Reverend  Paul's  life.  His  great  ambition  had  been  to 
spend  himself  in  the  field  of  foreign  missions,  but  his 
health  had  broken  down  and  he  was  doomed  to  live  on 
the  Pacific  coast  or  nowhere.  Even  here  he  had  to  be 
constantly  under  the  care  of  a  watchful  physician  for 
the  missionary  in  him  would  not  let  him  idle,  and  he 
had  established  a  nondescript  night-school  and  meeting 
place  for  all  the  rag  and  tag  of  humanity  that  was 
left  behind  by  more  specialized  philanthropies.  This 
school  was  a  constant  temptation  to  him  to  overwork. 
He  himself  appeared  to  be  constantly  on  the  verge  of 
pauperism  but  that  was  only  because  the  brother  who 
had  left  him  money  had  known  him  well  enough  to  tie 
it  up  so  that  he  could  get  it  and  give  it  away  only  in 
dribbles. 

John  was  quick  to  realize  that  the  Reverend  Paul 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  207 

was  starved  for  congenial  fellowship  and  thirsty  for  tri- 
fles of  talk  with  a  man  of  understanding,  but  he  also 
learned  that  his  host  was  bent  on  shunning  dialectics 
as  the  devil  shuns  holy  water.  Many  were  John's  at- 
tempts to  draw  him  into  the  morass  of  higher  criticism, 
to  tangle  him  in  sectarian  logic,  or  get  him  to  read 
Genesis  and  look  at  the  illustrative  biological  plates  of 
the  History  of  Creation  at  the  same  time.  All  to  no 
avail.  At  such  moments  the  Reverend  Paul's  eyes 
would  fix  absently  on  the  invisible  and  stay  fixed  till 
John  stopped  to  catch  breath  when  they  would  suddenly 
crinkle  up  at  the  corners  and  the  Reverend  Paul  would 
say,  "  Let  me  tell  you  a  story." 

It  was  on  such  an  occasion  that  John  approached  a 
subject  that  had  been  troubling  him  for  some  days  — 
the  matter  of  his  board  and  lodging.  He  told  the  Rev- 
erend Paul  that  he  did  not  wish  to  go  away  till  he  had 
somewhere  to  go  to  but  that  his  conscience  would  n't  let 
him  stay  on  unless  he  was  allowed  to  pay  his  way.  He 
spoke  of  looking  for  work  and,  to  relieve  the  moment  of 
any  embarrassment,  plunged  into  a  rather  enthusiastic 
exposition  of  his  theory  that  a  man  with  two  arms  and  a 
heart  in  him  could  find  work  anywhere. 

He  need  not  have  troubled  for  there  was  no  embar- 
rassment to  relieve.  The  Reverend  Paul  smiled  geni- 
ally and  said,  "  Certainly  you  may  stay  on  any  terms 
you  like.  But,  bless  my  soul,  what  an  illusion!  My 
boy,  there  is  no  work  in  the  world ;  only  service." 


CHAPTEK  XXV 

THE  intimacy  that  was  forming  between  John  and 
Pauline  developed  so  gradually  that  it  was 
scarcely  perceived  before  it  was  strong.  At  first  John 
saw  in  it  a  superficial  resemblance  to  his  friendship 
with  Joan  —  Pauline  seemed  as  free  as  Joan  had  been 
to  go  and  come,  as  fully  mistress  of  herself,  as  unfet- 
tered in  her  frank  ignoring  of  conventions.  But  soon 
he  began  to  sense  a  difference.  Pauline  did  not  rule  her 
parents  with  a  careless  rod  of  iron ;  she  allowed  herself 
no  unrestrained  liberty ;  she  marched  freely  but  along  a 
road  that  was  straight  as  a  bee-line  and  fenced  uncom- 
promisingly with  the  thick-set  hedges  of  right  and 
wrong. 

There  was  something  fixed  about  Pauline;  she  was 
no  puzzle  with  a  trick  of  alternating  exasperation  and 
attraction.  In  the  early  days  of  his  convalescence 
John  loved  to  lie  back  with  seemingly  closed  eyes  and 
gaze  upon  her,  conjuring  in  his  mind  some  lovely  image 
to  fit  her.  He  was  not  satisfied  until  he  hit  upon  the 
comparison  with  the  giant  trees  of  the  Californian 
coast.  She  was  like  that,  a  product  of  centuries  and  a 
century  in  herself.  There  was  something  infinite  about 
those  trees,  an  air  of  everlasting  life,  of  steadfast  as- 
piration, of  perennial  conquest,  and  an  unswerving  rec- 
titude. Pauline  was  like  that.  To  know  it  one  did 
not  have  to  see  her  whole  self,  standing  tall,  firm,  sure 

206 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  209 

and  beautiful ;  one  had  only  to  see  her  eyes  that  looked 
as  if  they  could  not  falter. 

Unlike  Joan's  fleeting  beauty,  Pauline's  was  never 
in  question.  It  did  not  spring  upon  one  with  a  sudden 
shock  of  discovery  such  as  that  with  which  the  passion- 
flower leaps  to  meet  the  eye,  but  it  stole  in  surely  to  the 
first  long  gaze  and  nestled  against  the  senses  like  a  sin- 
gle golden  bloom  gleaming  in  twilight.  But  it  was  not 
soft.  It  glowed  like  amber,  like  amber  it  gave  an  illu- 
sion of  transparency,  and  like  amber  it  defied  any  puny 
flame  to  set  it  on  fire. 

At  first  John  had  felt  baffled  by  Pauline's  imper- 
sonality and  through  idle  pride  had  striven  to  pass  its 
guard,  but  he  soon  gave  up  striving.  There  was  some- 
thing about  her  that  made  all  coquetry  seem  mean,  that 
not  only  held  him  back  but  gradually  forced  him  to 
the  reverence  of  one  who  humbly  worships  from  afar. 
But,  once  he  had  turned  his  thoughts  from  her  and  from 
himself,  drawn  Ike  and  Christine  into  his  arms  and 
carried  them  through  breathless  journeys  with  Pot  and 
Tot,  behold  a  miracle !  Pauline  drew  near  in  flesh  and 
in  spirit  and  looked  kindly  upon  him.  John  alone  was 
one  thing;  John  with  the  children  quite  another.  He 
saw  it  and  his  reverence  did  not  quite  keep  him  from 
profiting  by  the  discovery. 

Thus  they  traveled  in  merry  company  along  the  old 
road  of  friendship  until  one  evening  Pauline  sat  alone 
with  him,  near  him  in  spirit,  and  was  not  afraid.  She 
was  a  girl  of  few  words ;  her  life  was  one  of  movements 
more  than  of  phrases.  She  would  send  a  glance  of  her 
gray-blue  eyes  ahead,  follow  its  lead  with  quick  sure 


210  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

action,  and  say  nothing.  But  to-night  she  spoke;  not 
of  deep  things,  nor  of  great,  but  of  the  little  familiar 
things  of  the  short  day.  How  Christine,  passing  a 
glass-paneled  door,  had  suddenly  stopped  and  kissed 
herself  with  never  a  thought  of  vanity.  How  in  the 
garden  that  morning  when  she  was  picking  flowers  a 
red  rose  that  she  was  passing  by  had  clutched  her  dress 
with  a  thorn  and  made  her  look  down. 

John  did  not  speak;  he  scarcely  breathed  lest  he 
frighten  away  this  shy  spirit  of  communion.  He 
thrilled  to  her  low  voice  as  he  had  thrilled  only  to  Joan's 
arms  around  him  and  lost  himself  in  wonder  at  the 
gifts  in  the  hands  of  women.  How  cheap  and  how  in- 
finitely precious  could  two  women  make  the  same  little 
thing !  When  first  he  dared  a  mere  dream  of  Pauline's 
arms  around  him  his  face  flushed  a  deep  red  and  his 
hands  trembled,  but  his  thoughts  of  her,  even  her  pres- 
ence, never  set  him  on  fire.  They  controlled  him; 
struck  him  to  his  knees. 

The  next  afternoon  John  sought  out  the  Eeverend 
Paul  and  said,  "  I  think  it 's  time  for  me  to  start  look- 
ing for  a  job, —  a  service,  I  mean." 

The  Reverend  Paul  assumed  quite  a  new  air.  He 
seemed  not  to  have  put  aside  his  dreary  absent-minded 
ways  so  much  as  to  have  simply  changed  them  as  one 
changes  from  holiday  garb  to  working  clothes.  His 
face  lighted  up  with  appreciation  of  the  allusion. 
"Ah,"  he  said,  "  that 's  the  fine  thing  about  service. 
You  don't  have  to  look  for  it.  It  comes  to  you.  Some- 
times it  jumps  clean  onto  your  back  like  a  cat  onto  a 
ball.  You  come  with  me  to-night." 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  211 

That  evening  they  walked  together  down  the  long 
flight  of  steps,  down  the  steep  narrow  street,  turned  into 
a  rather  mean  quarter  of  the  city,  and  soon  came  upon  a 
monstrous  building  set  in  the  exact  middle  of  a  large 
lot  that  boasted  not  a  blade  of  grass.  The  building 
was  as  practical  as  a  barn  and  looked  like  one.  It  was 
built  of  timber,  stood  four-square,  a  story  and  a  half 
high,  and  had  a  hipped  roof  so  that  the  mezzofloor  could 
accommodate  erect  human  beings  of  not  over  six  feet 
in  height.  It  was  unpainted  and  seemed  to  John  by 
far  the  ugliest  edifice  he  had  ever  seen. 

At  the  gate  that  opened  into  the  yard  the  Reverend 
Paul  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  hideous  structure  with 
ecstatic  pride.  "  We  own  the  ground,"  he  said  with  a 
thrill  in  his  voice ;  "  we  own  the  building  and  some  day, 
sir,  we  '11  have  the  money  to  paint  it !  " 

He  led  John  across  the  yard  and  into  the  building 
whose  ground  floor  was  divided  in  the  simplest  possible 
fashion  into  one  big  room  and  four  smaller  ones,  all 
filled  with  benches  and  the  benches  all  filled  with  men 
and  youths  of  every  conceivable  origin  and  grade  of 
disreputableness. 

He  stopped  in  one  room  where  much  uncontrolled 
babble  was  going  on  and  turned  to  John.  "  Here  you 
are,"  he  said,  looking  around  with  his  air  of  suppressed 
astonishment.  "  Bless  my  soul,  how  Providence  fore- 
sees our  needs !  You  are  a  trained  teacher  and  here  is 
an  entirely  untrained  class!  You  can  teach  them  any- 
thing you  like,"  he  went  on  absently.  "  I  find  that  the 
great  thing  is  to  keep  them  quiet." 

John  stared  in  dismay  at  the  mess  of  humanity  that 


212  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

had  been  gathered  in  higgledy-piggledy  from  the  streets 
and  looked  it.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  thought  hard 
for  a  moment  and  then  said,  "  Will  you  step  outside  for 
a  moment,  sir  ?  " 

As  they  passed  out  John  was  wondering  how  he  could 
best  bribe  his  way  out  of  the  most  unpleasant  bit  of 
service  ever  brought  to  his  consideration.  Suddenly  an 
idea  struck  him  and  he  grinned  happily.  "  I  Ve  got  a 
surprise  for  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  'd  like  very- 
much  to  have  this  building  painted,  would  n't  you  ?  " 

The  Eeverend  Paul  gazed  remorsefully  at  his  cher- 
ished schoolhouse,  the  monstrous  apple  of  his  eye,  and 
said  sadly,  "  Ah,  yes.  We  have  that  to  look  forward 
to." 

"Well,"  said  John,  "stop  looking  forward.  I'll 
buy  the  paint  and  I  '11  paint  it" 

The  Eeverend  Paul  looked  dazed.  "When?"  he 
asked,  weakly. 

"  I  '11  start  to-morrow,"  said  John. 

A  moment  later  his  right  hand  was  caught  in  a  strong 
grip  and  he  looked  up  to  see  tears  of  gratitude  gleaming 
in  the  Eeverend  Paul's  eyes  and  mingling  with  a  smile 
that  was  like  the  light  of  a  rainbow  shining  through  a 
shower.  "  My  boy,"  he  said,  pumping  John's  hand 
slowly  up  and  down,  "I  —  I  have  no  words  — " 

John  felt  a  lump  rise  in  his  throat.  "  For  heaven's 
sake,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  don't  look  like  that  to  me. 
What 's  a  little  paint  —  a  little  paint  — "  He  gave  it 
up,  tried  to  grin,  and  hurried  away. 

Only  a  week  before,  he  had  wired  for  money.  It 
had  come  and  with  it  on  the  next  day  he  bought  two 


JOHN"   BOGAEDUS  213 

ladders,  brushes,  a  barrel  of  paint,  sizing,  turps,  and  all 
the  paraphernalia  of  a  methodical  bo's'n  laying  out  sup- 
plies for  giving  his  ship  a  fresh  coat. 

When  he  reached  the  house,  hot  and  pleasantly  tired, 
he  found  that  to  please  the  Reverend  Paul  as  he  had 
done  was  the  sure  path  to  making  himself  beloved  by 
that  most  united  household  whose  father  and  head  was 
exceptionally  directly  connected  with  the  family  heart. 
Faith  Bradley  came  nearer  to  him  that  night  than  she 
had  ever  been  and  made  him  feel  it.  Pauline  delib- 
erately led  him  away  to  walk  in  a  little  circle  under  the 
trees. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  John  to  her,  "  I  've  been  puz- 
zling over  something." 

"What?"  said  Pauline. 

"  I  Ve  found  out  that  Dr.  McNeil  knew  who  I  was 
almost  from  the  first  day  I  came  here.  He  made  up 
his  mind  I  was  a  seaman  and  went  the  rounds  till  he 
tracked  me  down.  Did  n't  he  tell  you  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  John,  "  what  about  that  day  when 
I  was  n't  infectious  any  more  and  all  you  —  you  chil- 
dren—  were  brought  in  and  presented.  Do  you  re- 
member? And  how  your  father  asked  me  to  tell  my 
name  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Pauline  and  laughed  softly.  "  Why, 
that 's  just  father,  his  test." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Why,  it 's  this  way,"  said  Pauline.  "  Father  says 
it 's  our  duty  always  to  beware  of  frauds  so  he  invents 
what  he  calls  tests.  He  knows  your  name  but  you  don't 


214  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

know  that  he  knows  it.  So  he  asks  you  what  it  is  and 
if  you  say  it  right,  then  — " 

"  Then  what?  "  asked  John. 

"  Then  he  trusts  you  forever,"  said  Pauline  and 
smiled  gravely  as  though  her  thoughts  were  playing 
about  the  pranks  of  a  child. 

John  stopped  and  looked  at  her  quizzically. 
"  Does  n't  he  often  get  left  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Almost  always,"  said  Pauline.  "  But  somehow, 
he  himself,  he  never  changes." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

JOHN  had  had  many  occasions  to  watch  Dr.  McNeil 
and  Pauline.  How  was  it  that  these  two  had  not 
been  drawn  together,  he  wondered?  The  doctor  was 
young,  not  over  thirty,  and  he  had  evidently  long  since 
won  his  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  Bradleys  taken  as  a 
family,  but  between  him  and  Pauline  there  was  never 
close  contact.  Not  only  did  they  not  talk  together,  but 
there  was  absent  between  them  that  intercourse  of 
glances,  of  casual  appeal  on  opinions,  of  individual 
consideration,  that  one  expects  to  find  between  a  young 
man  and  a  girl  constantly  thrown  together.  John  re- 
membered the  wall  of  Pauline's  impersonality  that  at 
first  had  seemed  to  him  impregnable,  unscalable,  but 
could  not  believe  that  the  doctor  could  pass  years  before 
it  without  attempting  its  heights  nor  easily  abandon  the 
assault  once  begun. 

The  painting  of  the  schoolhouse  was  no  child's  play 
and  John  had  not  undertaken  the  work  with  any  illu- 
sions as  to  its  magnitude.  Single-handed,  he  could  not 
hope  to  finish  in  less  than  a  month.  He  was  not  in  a 
hurry  to  lose  his  excuse  for  staying  with  the  Bradleys, 
but  he  was  eaten  up  with  the  desire  of  every  good  work- 
man to  reach  the  end  of  his  task,  to  put  on  those  finish- 
ing touches  which  are  the  satisfying  crown  on  labor 

well  done. 

215 


216  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

In  order  that  he  might  save  time  and  a  laborious 
daily  climb  he  began  carrying  his  lunch  with  him  in 
the  mornings,  until  Pauline  came  to  him  one  day  with 
a  puzzled  look  in  her  gray-blue  eyes.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand," she  said,  "  why  you  work  so  hard.  Dr.  McNeil 
says  you  're  not  strong  enough  to  drive  yourself,  and 
besides,  what 's  the  use  of  working  so  fast  that  you  can't 
enjoy  it  ? " 

Dr.  McNeil  walked  across  to  where  they  were  talking. 
"  That 's  quite  right,"  he  said,  making  no  excuses  for 
having  listened.  "  I  've  been  going  to  make  a  sugges- 
tion. Come  to  my  place  for  lunch.  There 's  no  hill  to 
climb  and  most  days  I  'm  alone." 

John  glanced  at  Pauline,  but  the  doctor  kept  his  eyes 
unwaveringly  on  John  with  a  sort  of  insistence  that 
seemed  to  plead  and  demand  an  answer  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  John.     "  I  'd  be  glad  to." 

He  was  never  to  forget  the  accumulated  impression 
of  those  lunch  hours  nor  of  the  doctor's  house.  It  was 
a  pretentious  house  for  a  bachelor,  large,  solid,  stand- 
ing in  two  acres  of  beautifully  kept  grounds,  and  struck 
a  note  hard  to  fix  in  words,  a  tone  half  way  between 
affluence  and  opulency.  This  tone  seemed  to  run  like 
a  color-scheme  through  the  doctor  and  all  his  belongings. 

In  spite  of  this  general  fitness  of  things  the  house 
itself  seemed  eloquent  of  something  missing.  John 
wondered  vaguely  what  it  could  be.  The  air  that  hung 
about  the  house  was  the  same  us  that  which  occasionally 
seemed  to  hang  about  McNeil,  an  air  not  of  sadness  ex- 
actly, but  of  finality  as  though  the  house  and  its  owner 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  217 

had  expected  some  one,  waited,  and  at  last  given  up 
waiting. 

McNeil  was  a  finished  host.  In  overalls  or  in  mufti, 
John  never  felt  anything  but  at  home  at  the  solid  square 
table  set  for  two  that  welcomed  him  daily  with  its  snowy 
white  cloth  and  gleaming  cutlery.  It  seemed  to  seize 
on  his  senses  and  hold  them  without  effort  for  a  rest- 
ful hour. 

McNeil  could  talk.  He  was  a  rapid  but  desultory 
reader,  not  of  books  for  he  seldom  had  the  time  for 
them,  but  of  all  that  transient  literature  which  to-day 
enables  a  busy  man  to  keep  step  with  the  van  of  discov- 
ery and  thought.  Like  John,  he  was  a  modern,  the  by- 
product of  an  age  and  an  atmosphere,  one  of  the  vast 
army  who  are  avidly  waiting  for  the  new  cosmos  of  the 
mind  to  crystallize  into  a  credo,  who  stand  midway  be- 
tween the  ethical  norms  of  "  I  know,"  and  "  I  believe." 

In  conversation  his  face  would  lose  its  habitual  so- 
lemnity, his  eyes  would  light  up,  and  he  would  speak 
quickly  and  briefly,  going  straight  to  kernel  or  crux. 
But  when  one  day  John  drew  him  back  from  general 
topics  and  suddenly  presented  the  Bradleys  for  consid- 
eration, a  shadow  like  a  cloud  darkened  his  face  for  a 
moment,  only  to  clear  as  he  spoke.  "  So,"  he  said, 
"you're  trying  to  think  out  the  Bradleys.  Keep  on 
trying  if  you  're  in  a  hurry,  but  when  you  give  up, 
come  to  me  and  I  '11  show  them  to  you  through  a  clear 
glass." 

About  the  time  the  painting  of  the  schoolhouse  was 
half  done,  an  evening  came  when  the  children  were  in 
bed,  the  Eeverend  Paul,  Faith  Bradley,  and  the  serv- 


218  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

ants  gone  to  prayer-meeting  or  elsewhere,  and  Pauline 
left  with  John  to  watch  over  the  house.  They  sat  in 
silence  on  the  veranda  in  the  glow  of  half-light  from  the 
open  front  door. 

It  was  easy  to  be  silent  on  that  veranda,  it  was  so 
high,  so  free  of  the  clatter  of  traffic  and  the  sounds  of 
men.  The  lights  of  a  great  city  builded  upon  hills 
blinked  up  out  of  the  depths  of  earth  and  from  the 
depths  of  the  heavens  that  seemed  almost  as  near,  the 
myriad  stars  blinked  back.  From  such  a  point  of  van- 
tage one  could  send  one's  thoughts  easily  up  or  down, 
reaching  like  a  searchlight  across  space. 

But  John's  eyes  did  not  seek  earth  and  heaven  so  far 
away.  They  settled  on  Pauline,  played  on  her  as 
though  they  dared  caresses  upon  which  his  hands  would 
never  venture.  She  sat  relaxed  in  her  chair,  her  hands 
lying  along  its  arms,  her  head  fallen  slightly  back,  and 
her  eyes  looking  neither  up  nor  down  but  wide  open 
with  unfathomable  thoughts.  Where  was  she?  John 
wondered,  for  he  could  see  that  she  was  far  away.  He 
did  not  flush  nor  turn  his  eyes  as  he  had  from  Joan, 
lying  asleep,  because  here  was  no  exposure,  no  subtle 
attack  on  the  senses.  Absent  or  present  in  spirit,  Pau- 
line was  protected. 

Yet  immobile,  silent,  she  spoke  to  him,  moved  him 
more  deeply  than  had  any  mood  of  Joan's.  The  glim- 
mering gold  of  her  hair,  the  faint  blush  in  her  cheeks, 
the  creamy  white  of  her  throat  where  he  could  see  the 
beat  of  her  pulse,  all  seemed  to  him  to  shine  with  the 
subdued  glow  of  light  striving  through  amber  and  made 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  219 

her  adorable  from  afar  to  his  eyes,  infinitely  desirable 
to  his  heart. 

Gradually  he  felt  an  aching  arising  within  him,  a 
longing  such  as  he  had  never  known,  to  draw  near  to 
her  and  draw  her  near  to  him.  This  throbbing  in  his 
heart,  this  breathing  in  short  gasps  that  hurt,  were  no 
illusory  will-o'-the-wisp  dragging  him  into  a  morass  of 
fear.  He  knew  it.  He  knew  that  with  Pauline  mar- 
riage would  have  no  terrors  beyond  the  awe  of  rever- 
ence, no  thoughts  or  speculations  of  how  and  where  to 
live.  To  be  with  her  would  be  life ;  to  serve  her  would 
be  to  serve  heaven  and  earth.  Where  she  was,  there 
was  a  whole  world,  self-contained,  infinite  in  its  prom- 
ise that  love,  once  given  and  taken,  would  mount  stead- 
fastly to  unmeasurable  heights. 

But  how  to  waken  her?  How  to  reach  her?  His 
heart  sank  with  a  premonition  of  failure.  If  only  she 
would  give  him  one  conscious  glance,  one  faint  pressure 
of  her  hand,  one  little  betraying  sigh !  He  watched  her 
with  an  intensity  born  of  his  desire.  Now  was  the 
time.  How  could  he  wait?  His  lips  were  so  dry  he 
wet  them  lest  they  be  impotent  to  speak  at  need.  Fever 
was  in  his  hands  and  made  them  tremble  so  that  he 
clutched  the  arms  of  his  chair  to  keep  them  still. 

A  voice,  the  Reverend  Paul's  voice,  floated  up  to 
them.  Presently  they  heard  the  sound  of  feet  climb- 
ing the  long  flight  of  steps.  Pauline  came  back  to  her- 
self. "  Is  it  possible  it 's  so  late  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  hear 
them  coming." 

John  sprang  up  so  quickly  that  his  chair  rasped  on 


220  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

the  veranda  floor.  "  Before  they  come,"  he  said 
thickly,  "  say  good  night  —  while  we  're  alone." 

Pauline's  breath  seemed  to  catch  and  pause.  She 
rose  to  her  feet,  held  out  her  hand  vaguely.  He 
clutched  it.  She  could  feel  the  fever  in  his  hand;  in 
spite  of  its  grip,  it  trembled.  Her  unfaltering  eyes 
suddenly  fixed  on  his  face  in  a  conscious  gaze. 

"  Say  good  night,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

Her  lips  formed  the  word  inaudibly.  John  dropped 
her  hand,  turned  his  face  from  her,  and  hurried  into 
the  house  lest  he  betray  his  sudden  exaltation.  His 
eyes  glowed,  his  blood  surged  in  his  veins,  his  breath 
came  in  long  quivering  sighs.  She  was  awake,  cried 
his  soul.  He  had  said  nothing,  done  nothing,  only 
asked  her  to  say  good  night  before  they  came  —  the 
others  —  and  she  herself  had  suddenly  awakened  to  find 
her  lips  mute. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TWO  weeks  passed  and  John  was  putting  the  finish- 
ing touches  to  the  schoolhouse  before  the  busy 
communal  life  of  the  Bradleys  gave  him  another  chance 
to  be  alone  with  Pauline,  but  he  did  not  count  the  days 
as  lost  for  during  them  he  had  seen  her  draw  slowly  out 
of  herself  like  a  bud  shy  of  the  weather  waiting  only 
for  one  more  blaze  of  sunshine  to  warm  it  to  bloom. 
Where  once  she  had  been  merely  detached,  now  she  was 
pensive  and  ocasionally  her  eyes  would  brood  over  John 
when  she  thought  he  was  not  looking,  wander  to  Dr. 
McNeil,  and  back  again  to  John. 

It  was  a  drowsy  Saturday  afternoon  that  brought  him 
his  opportunity.  Ike  and  Christine  had  been  carried 
off  to  a  children's  party,  Faith  Bradley  was  taking  a 
nap,  and  the  Reverend  Paul  was  restlessly  grinding  out 
a  sermon.  Pauline  and  John  had  been  to  the  foot  of 
the  long  flight  of  steps  to  hand  over  the  children  to  their 
hostess,  waiting  there  in  her  carriage.  When  they  had 
climbed  the  steps  again,  John  led  the  way  to  a  bench 
under  the  trees. 

"  Do  you  mind  sitting  here  for  a  little  while  ? "  he 
asked. 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  made  Pauline 
pause ;  then  she  looked  at  him  squarely  and  said,  "  No, 
I  don't  mind." 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bench  and  leaned  toward 

221 


222  JOHN   BOGARDTJS 

her.  "  Do  you  remember  the  other  night  ?  "  he  asked, 
"  the  night  that  I  asked  you  to  say  good  night  and  you 
could  n't  —  not  out  loud  ? " 

Pauline's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bay  far  below. 
"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  remember." 

"  We  had  sat  the  whole  evening  without  saying  a 
word,"  went  on  John.  "  I  don't  know  where  you  were. 
You  were  out  somewhere  far  away  between  the  lights  of 
the  city  and  the  stars,  so  far  that  I  thought  nothing  I 
could  do  would  bring  you  back.  But  I  was  there,  all 
of  me  was  there,  hovering  around  you,  brushing  your 
cheeks  with  my  thoughts,  caressing  your  hair  with  my 
eyes,  longing  just  to  touch  my  lips  to  your  feet,  my 
whole  self  aching  to  come  near  to  you,  to  stay  near  to 
you  for  always." 

Pauline's  breath  came  fast,  her  lips  parted,  and  she 
turned  her  eyes,  troubled  with  sudden  questionings, 
from  the  bay  to  his  face. 

John  gripped  his  hands  between  his  knees  and  looked 
intently  at  her.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  that  I  '11  love  you 
forever  ?  Where  's  the  use  in  that  ?  I  can't  paint  your 
power  in  words.  You  alone  know  the  depths  of  the 
thing  that's  in  you.  All  I  know  is  what  I  feel  and 
what  I  believe,  that  if  I  were  struck  blind  my  eyes 
would  still  live  in  the  memory  of  your  face,  that  if  I 
were  suddenly  deaf  just  my  hand  against  your  heart 
would  give  me  back  all  the  music  in  the  world." 

Pauline  raised  her  hand  to  her  breast  and  pressed  it 
there  as  though  to  hide  the  beating  of  her  heart. 
"  Don't,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  of  her  breath.  "  Don't 
go  on  —  not  like  that." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  223 

John  felt  his  blood  leap  exultantly.  He  caught  her 
free  hand  and  held  it  tightly.  "  Why  should  n't  I  go 
on?"  he  said.  "Go  on?  Why,  Pauline,  I  haven't 
begun.  What  have  I  said?  Nothing.  The  things  I 
feel,  how  can  I  tell  them  ?  Only  in  years,  only  in  serv- 
ing you,  only  —  He  dropped  his  head  and  laid  his 
hot  face  in  her  hand. 

For  a  moment  she  let  her  hand  rest  against  his  cheek ; 
then  she  drew  it  softly  away.  "  Sit  up,"  she  said. 
"  Sit  close  to  me.  I  can't  let  you  go  on,  not  till  I  've 
told  you  where  I  stand." 

John  did  as  she  bade  him,  but  would  not  be  content 
to  listen  until  he  held  both  her  hands  in  his.  "  Now," 
he  said,  his  face  quivering  but  still  exultant,  "  now  tell 
me." 

"  It 's  a  thing  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  very  well," 
said  Pauline.  "  Something  I  was  never  able  to  tell 
mother  and  that  she  could  never  ask.  It  was  when  I 
was  just  going  to  be  married.  It  seems  so  long  ago  but 
it  was  n't  very  long  ago,  only  a  year." 

She  paused  and  let  her  thoughts  travel  far  back. 
"  He  was  a  good  man,  a  fine  man ;  he 's  been  a  fine  man 
ever  since  I  've  known  him.  Unhappy  sometimes  but 
not  afraid.  He  came  to  me  like  a  great  light  and 
showed  me  that  I  was  a  woman,  not  suddenly  so  that  I 
was  frightened  but  slowly,  like  morning  coming.  And 
when  the  thing  happened  and  he  saw  that  I  could  n't 
tell  mother,  that  mother's  heart  and  mine  were  aching 
because  my  tongue  was  tied,  he  went  to  her  himself  and 
told  her,  because  he  is  never  afraid." 

"  What  was  this  terrible  thing  ?  "  asked  John,  press- 


224  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

ing  her  hands,  trying  to  bring  back  her  thoughts  to  him- 
self. 

Pauline  turned  her  troubled  eyes  on  his  face.  They 
steadied  as  they  met  his  gaze.  "  It 's  not  so  hard  for 
me  to  tell  you  as  I  thought  it  would  be,"  she  said,  "  be- 
cause it 's  right  I  should  tell  you.  Before  we  were  to 
be  married  he  brought  me  here,  one  afternoon  just  like 
this,  and  told  me  that  although  he  had  never  been  mar- 
ried he  had  a  boy,  a  son.  That  was  the  thing  and  that 
was  the  end  —  for  us." 

For  a  moment  the  reaction  threatened  to  be  too  much 
for  John.  What  he  had  expected  he  did  not  know  but 
he  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  smile  as  though  at  an  anti- 
climax, to  laugh  away  Pauline's  tragic  note.  He  looked 
into  her  face  and  suddenly  all  desire  to  smile  left  him. 
He  felt  a  vague  disquiet  that  he  could  not  quite  place ; 
she  was  so  young,  yet  so  austere ;  so  innocent  of  knowl- 
edge, yet  so  uncurious,  immutable. 

"  But  Pauline,"  he  almost  stammered,  trying  to 
smile.  "  You  don't  mean  — " 

Her  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  on  his  face.  "  Don't 
mean  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  if  you  loved  a  man  and  he 
was  honorable  with  you —  You  don't  mean  that  if  a 
man  has  ever  had  a  woman  in  his  life,  a  woman  that 
never  counted —  You  don't — "  He  floundered  to  a 
full  stop.  As  he  had  spoken  so  had  his  color  been  ris- 
ing in  plunges  to  his  cheeks.  He  wondered  how  he 
could  ever  have  felt  like  smiling  at  the  tragedy  in  Pau- 
line's voice.  His  face  was  drawn,  his  eyes  feverish  but 


PAULINE 


JOHN    BOGAKDUS  225 

not  impelling,  as  though  they  feared  to  have  his  unfin- 
ished question  answered. 

Pauline  paid  no  heed  to  his  words ;  her  gaze  remained 
fixed  on  his  face,  reading  it  as  though  it  were  a  printed 
page.  Suddenly  a  tremor  went  through  her  whole 
body;  the  gray  blue  of  her  eyes  turned  to  steel.  She 
slowly  drew  her  hands  away  from  his  grasp  and 
clenched  them  in  her  lap.  "  You,  too,"  she  said  stead- 
ily, coldly,  as  if  something  had  gone  dead  within  her. 

John's  heart  sank  lower  and  lower  as  he  looked  at 
her;  his  limbs  and  his  whole  body  felt  a  sudden  chill 
as  though  ice  were  running  in  his  veins,  but  he  forced 
his  lips  to  a  crooked  smile.  "  Pauline,"  he  said,  "  you 
don't  mean,  you  cant  mean,  that  you  'd  let  the  dead  acts 
of  a  man's  past  cut  him  —  and  you  —  off  from  happi- 
ness ? " 

She  was  no  longer  looking  at  him.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  straight  before  her.  "  Our  acts  die  with  us,  some- 
times," she  said ;  "  never  before." 

"  And  a  thing  like  that,  no  matter  how  long  ago  or 
how  it  happened,"  pleaded  John;  "no  matter  how 
much  you  loved  the  man  — " 

"  However  much  I  loved  him,"  said  Pauline,  stead- 
ily. 

John  leaned  forward,  his  face  tense  and  his  eyes 
glowing.  "  What  about  expiation  ?  "  he  said  sharply. 
"  Is  there  no  expiation  for  a  thing  like  that  ?  " 

Pauline  turned  her  eyes  on  him  for  a  mere  glance, 
her  lip  curled  infinitesimally,  she  swallowed  twice  in 
rapid  succession,  and  caught  her  breath.  Then  she 


226  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

looked  away.  "  Expiation  ? "  she  said  steadily. 
"  Yes,  there  is  expiation." 

"  You  mean,"  said  John,  hoarsely,  an  impotent  rage 
rising  in  him,  "  you  mean  there  is  atonement  but  no  re- 
ward?" 

"  None,"  said  Pauline.     "  Not  here." 

Suddenly  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Stand  up,"  he 
commanded.  "  Look  at  me." 

Pauline  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  steadily  into  his 
eyes.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  patiently. 

"  This,"  said  John,  passionately.  "  Some  day  you 
will  meet  a  cad  instead  of  a  man  and  he  will  lie  to  you." 

Pauline's  unfaltering  eyes  held  him  firmly  for  a  long 
moment  and  a  faint  flush  rose  slowly  to  her  pale 
cheeks.  "  You  are  wrong,"  she  said  quietly.  "  You 
know  you  are  wrong.  No  man  will  ever  lie  to  me." 

Before  her  steady  gaze  his  eyes  fell.  He  turned  and 
stumbled  toward  the  house,  blind  with  rage  and  protest, 
helpless  and  bruised  as  though  he  had  come  to  grips 
with  Fate  itself.  The  Reverend  Paul  called  to  him  as 
he  passed  the  open  door  of  the  study  but  he  did  not  heed. 
He  rushed  to  his  room,  closed  the  door,  locked  it,  and 
paced  up  and  down,  his  fists  pressed  to  his  temples. 
Then  he  threw  himself  full  length,  face  down,  on  the 
bed  and  tried  to  think;  tried  to  be  sane  and  trace  his 
utter  despair  and  the  sickening  feeling  of  impotence 
back  along  the  years  to  its  far-off  ugly  source,  back  to 
his  childhood  and  the  Mansini  woman. 

What  was  it  Pauline  had  said?  Our  acts  die  with 
us  sometimes,  never  before.  The  desire  that  still  ached 
within  him  cried  out  that  it  was  a  lie.  But  what  if  it 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  227 

were  true  ?  Where  would  the  world  be  if  people  picked 
out  a  little  rock  like  that  and  built  a  whole  life  on  it? 
Justice  without  charity,  an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth,  love  abased  before  even  scales,  lowered  to 
a  level  of  trade  and  weight  for  weight.  It  could  not  be. 
An  hour  passed.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window. 
Already  the  whole  catastrophe  seemed  impossible,  like 
the  memory  of  a  nightmare.  He  held  aside  the  curtain 
and  looked  out  toward  the  bench  beneath  the  trees. 
Some  one  was  sitting  there.  Pauline,  alone,  lovely  as  a 
garden  statue  in  twilight,  immutable  and  cold  as  stone, 
her  hands  clenched  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes  fixed  before 
her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

JOHN  did  not  leave  his  room  for  the  rest  of  the  aft- 
ernoon. He  busied  himself  arranging  his  few 
belongings  so  that  he  could  pack  them  at  a  moment's 
notice  and  on  a  slip  of  paper  jotted  down  each  little 
thing  that  he  had  yet  to  do  to  leave  his  job  of  painting 
absolutely  complete.  Since  he  had  stared  out  of  the 
window  at  Pauline,  sitting  so  still  on  the  bench  where 
they  had  talked,  a  strange  calmness  had  settled  upon 
him,  not  peace  of  spirit  but  the  dead  quiet  of  abandon- 
ment. There  was  a  fixity  about  that  figure  of  a  girl 
that  killed  hope. 

He  felt  an  impulse  to  avoid  the  supper  table  but 
quelled  it  and  took  his  place  promptly,  his  lips  set  in 
a  grim,  straight  line.  His  thoughts  were  fixed  with 
dread  on  the  Sunday  that  was  to  follow,  a  long  empty 
day  whose  terrors  could  not  be  stilled  by  work.  Well, 
he  would  run  away  from  it ;  he  would  go  and  bury  him- 
self in  McNeil's  house,  and  make  no  excuses.  Only 
once  during  the  meal  did  his  eyes  glance  at  Pauline. 
She  was  no  longer  pensive;  she  was  apparently  serene 
and  wore  that  air  of  detachment  that  John  had  grown 
to  connect  invariably  with  the  presence  of  McNeil. 
Was  the  same  barrier  raised  now  against  himself  ?  If 
so,  then  McNeil  was  the  man  who  had  crashed  first  on 
the  little  rock  { 

228 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  229 

Ee  awoke  from  the  speculations  to  which  that  thought 
gave  rise  to  find  Mrs.  Bradley's  soft  eyes  fixed  anx- 
iously on  his  face.  She  leaned  toward  him  as  she  did 
toward  any  one  to  whom  she  spoke.  "  You  are  not 
well/'  she  said.  "  Your  holiday  has  n't  rested  you." 

John  forced  himself  to  smile.  "No,"  he  said. 
"Work's  the  cure  for  me.  Wait  till  Monday.  I'll 
show  you." 

The  next  morning  he  left  a  note  to  say  that  he  would 
be  out  for  the  day  and  walked  straight  to  the  doctor's 
house.  McNeil  was  surprised  to  see  him,  and  the 
havoc  that  had  been  worked  in  John's  face  by  the  tur- 
moil of  the  preceding  afternoon  and  a  sleepless  night 
made  the  doctor  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  his  early 
visitor  came  as  patient  and  not  as  friend. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  with  a  smile  of  professional 
cheer,  "  come  into  the  office  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

John  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said  grimly. 
"  There  's  nothing  wrong  with  the  flesh  this  time.  I 
just  want  to  hide  myself,  bury  myself  in  your  library 
for  the  day.  Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  McNeil,  gravely.  "  You  don't  want  to 
talk  ? " 

John  shook  his  head  again.  "  Not  just  now,"  he 
said. 

But  in  the  late  afternoon  when  they  were  smoking 
together  on  the  tree-shaded  veranda  at  the  side  of  the 
house,  he  gave  the  doctor  an  inkling  of  his  trouble. 
"  McNeil,"  he  said,  "  you  've  been  a  mighty  good  friend 
to  me.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  '11  never  forget  all 
you  've  done.  To-morrow  I  finish  my  painting  job. 


230  JOHN   BOGARDTJS 

After  that  will  you  take  me  in  for  a  day  or  two  ?  Some- 
thing's  gone  wrong  in  my  head  and  my  heart  at  the 
same  time.  I  want  to  break  away."  He  tried  to  smile 
to  pass  off  his  flippant  words  but  failed  miserably. 

McNeil  was  embarrassed  as  are  most  men  before  emo- 
tion. "  My  dear  fellow,"  'he  said,  getting  up  and  pre- 
tending to  fix  his  attention  on  something  in  the  garden. 
"  Of  course.  I  '11  do  anything.  But  won't  it  make  it 
awkward  for  the  Bradleys  ?  I  know  they  've  done 
nothing  to  make  you  feel  unwelcome  — " 

"  Unwelcome !  "  exclaimed  John. 

"I  know,"  said  McNeil.  "Didn't  I  say  I  knew 
they  had  n't.  Well,  never  mind.  Don't  say  another 
word.  I  'm  not  such  a  fool  as  not  to  know  that  there 
are  times  when  just  to  do  one  thing  is  so  big  that  you 
can't  stop  to  think  of  the  little  things  that  are  going  to 
happen  along  with  it.  And  as  for  telling  me  all  that  ?s 
in  your  heart  —  You  're  worrying  about  that,  are  n't 
you?  Well,  don't.  Light  isn't  always  kind.  Before 
you  start  to  tell  me  anything,  I  'm  going  to  show  you 
something;  one  of  those  chance  discoveries  that  give 
tongues  to  inanimate  things." 

He  called  a  servant  and  spoke  to  him  aside,  then  he 
said  to  John,  "  Come  with  me." 

They  left  the  veranda,  and  walked  in  silence  half 
across  the  grounds.  Suddenly  McNeil  stopped  and 
turned.  "  Look  at  the  house,"  he  said. 

John  was  bewildered  by  the  strange  command  but 
obeyed.  For  a  moment  his  eyes  were  aware  of  no 
change,  but  as  he  stared  he  became  puzzled  and  gradu- 
ally amazed.  The  house  appeared  the  same  in  every 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  231 

detail  as  he  had  always  known  it  but  its  whole  air  was 
transformed  and  it  seemed  to  breathe  a  harsh  dis- 
sonance. He  searched  long  for  the  discordant  note  and 
at  last  found  it  in  the  turret  that  rose  high  above  one 
corner  of  the  large  building.  The  windows  of  the 
tower  were  unveiled,  revealing  its  emptiness.  The  eye 
passed  through  them  unhindered  and  beyond  to  flat 
squares  of  sky. 

The  open  turret  glared  its  emptiness  to  the  whole 
world.  It  was  like  a  sore  and  a  blemish,  a  shell  of 
ruin  unconsecrated  by  grandeur,  an  eerie  so  bare  that  it 
would  repel  the  birds  of  the  air.  It  made  the  whole 
house  seem  mean,  deserted,  unloved,  shallowly  crying 
out  its  troubles  to  any  passer-by. 

McNeil  clapped  his  hands  and  immediately  a  hand 
and  an  arm  stretched  out  across  the  emptiness  of  the 
turret  and  drew1  one  heavy  curtain  after  another. 
There  was  no  longer  a  discordant  note.  The  house  re- 
turned into  itself,  took  on  a  sudden  dignity  of  stead- 
fast silence  and  containment.  It  became  inscrutable, 
neither  joyful  nor  blatant  of  its  woes.  It  seemed  to 
say,  "  Here  I  stand.  Make  of  me  what  you  will." 

The  two  men  stood  long  gazing  at  the  sealed  turret, 
each  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  It  was  John  who 
broke  the  silence.  "  You  could  never  imagine  a  thing 
like  that,"  he  said  with  a  deep  breath.  "  You  have  to 
see  it." 

"  Both,"  said  McNeil,  thoughtfully.  "  You  have  to 
see  it  and  imagine  it.  Until  I  happened  by  a  fluke  on 
what  you've  just  seen,  I  never  knew  the  strength  of 
containment." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  next  day  John  carried  his  lunch  with  him  but 
did  not  stop  work  to  eat  it.  By  a  little  after  four 
in  the  afternoon  he  had  put  the  last  finishing  touch  to 
a  most  creditable  job.  He  gathered  all  his  working 
materials,  the  ladders,  the  empty  barrels  and  paint  pots, 
the  worn  brushes  and  the  seamanlike  tackle  with  which 
he  had  avoided  the  use  of  scaffolding,  and  stacked  the 
lot  methodically  in  one  corner  of  the  schoolyard.  With 
a  last  look  around  he  left  the  scene  of  his  happy  month 
of  labor  and  made  his  way  to  the  Bradleys'  house, 
bathed,  changed  his  clothes,  and  packed  in  readiness  for 
the  morrow.  Then  he  sought  out  the  Eeverend  Paul 
and  found  him  in  his  study,  talking  to  his  wife. 

"  Well,"  said  John.  "  my  job  's  done  and  I  've  no 
longer  got  a  right  to  saddle  myself  on  you.  I  would 
thank  you  for  everything  but  I  can't.  I  've  tried  before 
but  there  are  n't  any  words  — " 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  interrupted  the  Eeverend  Paul. 
"  Finished  to-day,  have  you  ?  Splendid.  Splendid. 
Faith,  tell  Ike  to  try  and  find  my  hat.  I  really  must 
go  down  and  look.  For  a  week  I  Ve  been  shutting  my 
eyes  every  day  so  as  to  see  the  whole  thing  suddenly, 
and  yesterday  I  bumped  into  two  children  and,  if  you 
can  believe  it,  almost  knocked  them  down."  He  looked 

232 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  233 

at  his  wife  and  John  with  his  usual  astonishment  at 
little  things. 

"  Paul,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  "  did  you  hear  ? 
Mr.  Bogardus  says  he's  going  away,  that  he  can't 
saddle  himself  on  us  any  longer." 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  the  Eeverend  Paul.  "  Does  he 
think  we  're  tame  donkeys  that  can't  kick  him  off  when 
we  're  tired  of  him  ?  Nonsense !  "  He  called  to  Pau- 
line as  she  passed  the  open  door.  "  Pauline,  come  here 
and  talk  to  this  young  man.  He  says  he  's  going  away. 
Think  of  something  else  for  him  to  paint." 

Pauline  smiled,  not  at  John  but  at  her  father.  (t  I 
can't  think  of  anything  just  now,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  it,"  cried  the  Reverend  Paul.  "  We  '11  put 
up  a  windmill.  Ours  is  a  splendid  location  for  a  wind- 
mill." 

"  But,  darling  papa,"  said  Pauline,  "  we  don't  need 
a  windmill.  What  would  we  do  with  a  windmill  ?  " 

"  That 's  true,"  said  the  Reverend  Paul,  frowning 
and  tapping  his  desk  with  his  fingers.  "  I  had  n't 
thought  of  that" 

"  Here 's  your  hat,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley. 

The  Reverend  Paul  took  the  hat  absently  and  put  it 
on.  Before  he  could  remember  what  he  wanted  it  for, 
Ike  and  Christine  rushed  in  and  attacked  John  in 
massed  formation.  "  Once  upon  a  time !  "  they  cried 
in  chorus.  "  Please !  Please !  " 

They  led  him  out  to  a  corner  of  the  veranda  and,  be- 
fore they  had  decided  just  where  and  how  to  settle 
down,  Pauline  came  out  to  them  with  a  thick  roll  of 
manuscript  in  her  hand.  She  gave  it  to  John.  "If 


234  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

you  ever  need  money,"  she  said,  "  try  these  on  some 
publisher.  It 's  just  your  Pot  and  Tot  stories.  I  've 
written  them  out  almost  in  your  own  words." 

John  took  the  bundle  and  thrust  it  in  his  pocket. 
"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  his  voice  thick  with  resentment 
and  futile  protest.  He  turned  from  her  and  she  was 
about  to  leave  them,  when  the  children  seized  on  her 
skirts  and  dragged  her  to  a  seat  between  them  on  a 
wicker  lounge.  "  Now !  "  they  said  to  John,  still  in 
chorus. 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  before  them,  a  grim  look 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes.  Outwardly  he  was  tired 
by  the  day's  hard  work,  inwardly  he  was  bruised  and 
sore,  and,  as  though  to  touch  him  on  the  raw,  the  chil- 
dren had  drawn  close  to  Pauline  instead  of  nestling 
down  beside  him  as  was  their  wont  when  Tot  and  Pot 
were  about  to  make  an  appearance. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  — "  said  John  and  paused. 

"  There  were  a  little  boy  and  a  little  girl  and  their 
names  were  Pot  and  Tot !  "  chanted  Ike  and  Christine. 

"  Exactly,"  said  John.  "  This  boy  Pot  was  n't  a 
perfect  little  boy  by  any  means.  In  the  first  place  he 
was  fat,  in  the  second  place  he  was  greedy,  and  in  the 
third  place  he  used  to  pinch  Tot  because  he  knew  she 
could  n't  pinch  back.  Pot  and  Tot  had  a  pony  — " 

"And  his  name  was  Snowball  because  he  was  so 
black !  "  cried  Christine  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  that  was  his  name,  all  right. 
Snowball  was  a  wonderful  pony,  but  just  because  he 
was  so  wonderful  he  had  an  awful  quarrel  with  the 
children.  It  all  started  from  the  day  Pot  made  a  but- 


JOHN    BOGAKDUS  235 

terfly  net.  When  the  net  was  made  he  ran  after  but- 
terflies but  he  never  caught  one  because  he  was  so 
fat  he  could  n't  run  any  faster  than  a  steak-and-kidney 
pudding.  The  butterflies  simply  laughed  at  him,  called 
him  Fatty,  and  made  him  so  angry  that  he  turned  pur- 
ple and  white  in  spots  with  rage." 

"  Poor  Pot,"  said  Christine. 

"  Poor  Pot  ?  "  continued  John.  "  Wait  till  you  hear 
what  he  did.  He  climbed  on  Snowball,  who  was  so 
wonderful  that  he  could  jump  as  high  as  a  house  only 
higher,  and  made  him  jump  after  the  butterflies. 
Every  time  Snowball  jumped  Pot  caught  a  butterfly, 
and  pretty  soon  all  the  butterflies  stopped  laughing,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  never  called  him  Fatty  any  more. 

"  At  first  Tot  did  n't  want  to  catch  butterflies  because 
when  Pot  caught  them  he  did  n't  let  them  go  again  but 
pinned  each  one  with  a  long  long  pin  into  a  board  and 
puffed  his  cheeks  and  his  eyes  out  and  called  it  a  col- 
lection. But  one  day  a  man  with  a  head  shaped  like  a 
potato  with  a  bad  spot  at  one  end  and  wearing  thick 
glasses  came  along  and  for  just  one  little  butterfly  he 
gave  Pot  a  big  quarter  of  a  dollar.  When  Tot  saw  that 
she  forgot  all  about  being  sorry  for  the  butterflies  and 
made  herself  a  net  and  even  took  a  penny  from  her 
church  money  to  buy  some  long  pins." 

"Oh!"  cried  Christine. 

"  Yes,"  said  John.  "  It  was  naughty.  It  was  so 
naughty  that  it  just  shows  you  how  naughty  a  little  girl 
can  be.  -All  this  made  Snowball  very  sad,  because  he 
loved  the  gentle  butterflies.  At  last  it  just  grew  to  be 
too  much  for  him,  and  though  he  knew  he  must  do 


236  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

everything  his  masters  told  him  to  do  he  could  n't  jump 
high  any  more  because  his  heart  was  so  heavy  it  simply 
held  him  down  and  even  almost  broke  his  legs  with  its 
weight." 

"  Gee !  "  said  Ike.     "  It  musta  been  awful  heavy." 

"  It  was,"  said  John.  "  It  was  even  heavier  than 
Pot,  and  Pot  was  the  fattest  boy  ever  put  into  one  skin. 
The  first  time  poor  Snowball  could  n't  jump  when  Pot 
told  him  to,  Pot  got  very  angry  and  beat  him.  That 
made  Snowball's  heart  grow  heavier  than  ever  and  his 
legs  could  n't  hold  it  up  any  longer  so  they  just  crumpled 
and  let  Snowball  down  in  the  grass.  '  Well/  he 
thought,  '  it 's  all  for  the  best  because  now  the  butter- 
flies are  safe.' 

"  But  he  was*  wrong,  for  that  very  day  the  man  with 
a  head  like  a  potato  with  a  bad  spot  at  one  end  came 
along  and  told  Pot  never  mind  about  his  lazy  pony,  be- 
cause if  he  went  into  the  woods  and  found  the  butter- 
flies when  they  were  young  and  sticky  and  had  n't  quite 
learned  to  fly,  he  could  walk  right  up  to  them  and  catch 
them  with  his  fingers.  So  every  day  Pot  and  Tot  would 
go  out  together  and  catch  poor  young  butterflies  that 
were  just  beginning  to  dry  their  wings.  They  caught 
so  many  that  one  day  the  king  of  the  butterflies,  an  em- 
peror moth,  called  a  great  meeting  — " 

"  Was  there  a  queen,  too  ?  "  asked  Christine. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  queen,"  said  John,  "  but  she  was 
prostrated  with  grief.  That  was  one  of  the  reasons 
the  king  called  the  meeting.  When  all  the  butterflies 
were  assembled  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  but  very  hard 
to  see,  because  they  gathered  just  under  the  tops  of  the 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  237 

highest  trees.  All  was  very  quiet  because  even  when 
the  whole  multitude  of  butterflies  talked  at  the  same 
time  it  did  n't  make  any  more  noise  than  two  feathers 
in  a  bed.  When  the  king  shouted,  l  This  meeting  is 
called  to  decide  what  to  do  about  Pot  and  Tot ! '  the 
proclamation  had  to  be  repeated  a  million  times  for  all 
the  butterflies  to  hear." 

"My!  "said  Ike. 

"  All  the  councilors  of  state,"  continued  John,  "  the 
king's  chamberlains  and  nobles,  the  thousand  ladies-in- 
waiting  and  the  ten-thousand  ladies-of-the-wardrobe,  the 
knights,  which  we  call  moths,  the  fifty  thousand  heralds, 
and  all  the  princes  and  princesses  of  the  many  royal 
families  chattered  a  hundred  thousand  different  things, 
but  all  the  young  butterflies  that  could  not  fly  and  were 
just  hanging  on  the  branches  and  trunks  of  the  trees 
said  just  one  thing  and  they  said  it  all  together  so  that 
it  drowned  out  all  the  other  things  that  everybody  else 
was  saying." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  "  asked  Ike. 

"  This  is  what  all  the  sticky  young  butterflies 
shouted,"  said  John.  "  They  shouted,  '  Kill  Pot,  kiU 
Tot,  kill  Tot,  kill  Pot!'" 

"  They  were  angry,"  said  Christine  mildly. 

"  Very  angry,"  said  John.  "  And  just  when  they 
were  angriest  who  should  come  into  the  wood  but  Pot 
and  Tot,  and  Pot  looked  up  and  when  he  saw  the  mil- 
lions and  millions  of  butterflies,  his  little  round  mouth 
opened  in  wonder  and  his  eyes  stuck  out  from  his  round 
cheeks  with  greed.  This  made  one  of  the  young  but- 
terflies so  angry  that  he  loosened  his  hold  on  the  branch 


238  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

of  a  tree  and  hurled  himself  at  Pot,  screaming  at  the 
top  of  his  perfectly  silent  voice,  '  Kill  Pot,  kill  Tot, 
kill  Tot,  kill  Pot!' 

"  When  the  other  young  butterflies  saw  that,  they 
hurled  themselves  down,  first  just  a  few,  then  more  and 
more.  Pot  laughed  with  glee  and  told  Tot  to  hold  out 
her  apron.  He  caught  butterflies  so  fast  that  he  forgot 
all  about  not  breaking  their  wings,  and  started  cram- 
ming them  in  his  pockets.  But  soon  he  stopped  catch- 
ing them.  They  no  longer  were  coming  in  dozens  and 
baker's  dozens,  but  in  dozens  and  baker's  dozens  of 
hundreds  of  thousands ! 

"  '  Pot,'  screamed  Tot,  '  I  'm  frightened ! ' 

"  '  Huh ! '  grunted  Pot,  '  whose  afraid  of  butter- 
flies ? '  He  threw  his  arms  around  and  beat  off  as  many 
as  he  could,  but  the  very  young  ones  were  so  sticky 
they  just  hung  to  him  like  molasses.  In  spite  of  the 
way  he  was  fighting  he  began  to  turn  pale  and  cold. 
Then  he  knew  he  was  frightened.  '  Run,  Tot,  run ! ' 
he  shouted  and  Tot  answered,  '  Oh,  Pot,  I  can't.  They 
are  sticking  to  my  arms  and  legs.  They  're  sticking  to 
me  all  over.  Oh,  Pb  — ' 

"  Suddenly  her  voice  stopped.  The  butterflies  had 
filled  her  mouth.  Just  after  that  Pot  saw  her  go  down. 
He  fought  on  a  little  longer  and  then  he  too  went  down 
squashing  thousands  of  butterflies  with  his  fat,  round 
body.  But  the  thousands  that  he  squashed  were  noth- 
ing to  the  millions  and  millions  that  were  left  and  that 
piled  on  top  of  Pot  and  Tot  in  a  mountain  as  big  as  a 
house  and  of  all  the  colors  in  the  world.  For  some 
time  the  mountain  quivered  and  shook  once  in  a  while 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  239 

but  soon  it  was  quite  still  and  all  through  the  air,  under 
the  trees,  on  the  trees,  over  the  trees,  wherever  the  eye 
could  reach,  there  was  a  great  thick  cloud  of  butterflies, 
all  singing  one  terrible  song:  'Pot  is  dead,  Tot  is 
dead ;  Tot  is  dead,  Pot  is  dead.'  " 

"  But  they  were  n't,"  said  Ike. 

"  Of  course  they  were  n't,"  murmured  Christine. 

"  Snowball  heard  the  terrible  song,"  continued  John, 
"  and  he  was  so  terrified  that  he  forgot  all  about  his 
heart  being  too  heavy  to  carry  and  came  flying  like  the 
wind.  He  hurled  himself  at  the  great  mountain  of 
butterflies  and  with  his  head  and  his  tail  and  all  his 
four  feet  he  scattered  it  right  and  left  until  at  last  he 
had  quite  uncovered  the  two  children,  Pot  lying  so  fat 
and  round  and  unnaturally  pale  and  poor,  poor  little 
Tot,  just  as  white  and  as  flat  and  as  still  as  a  wet  sheet 
of  paper.  Great  tears  rolled  down  from  Snowball's 
eyes  for  he  saw  that  he  had  come  too  late." 

Ike's  and  Christine's  eyes  were  fastened  on  John's 
mouth,  waiting  for  him  to  go  on.  "  Too  late," 
prompted  Ike. 

"  Yes,"  said  John.  "  He  was  too  late.  The  butter- 
flies were  right.  Pot  and  Tot  had  killed  them;  they 
had  killed  Pot  and  Tot." 

The  children's  eyes  went  wide  with  horror,  they 
stared  unbelieving  at  John's  set  face.  Christine  was 
the  first  to  break.  She  caught  her  breath  in  a  sharp 
little  gasp  and  then  screamed,  "  No ! "  so  sharply,  so 
penetratingly,  that  the  word  shot  through  John's  heart. 
Ike  pounded  the  side  of  the  wicker  seat.  "  No,  John, 
no !  "  he  yelled  and  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 


240  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

Pauline,  very  pale,  rose  to  her  feet.  The  children 
flung  themselves  at  her,  clutched  at  her  blindly,  buried 
their  faces  against  her  skirt,  and  sobbed.  "  Change  it," 
she  said  to  John.  "  Change  it  now,  quickly." 

John  found  himself  standing,  facing  her.  "  I  can't," 
he  said.  "  I  won't." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Pauline,  amazement  in  her  eyes. 

"  Justice,"  said  John.  "  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth,  a  Pot  for  a  butterfly  — " 

"  But  children !  "  biased  Pauline.  "  You  hurt  chil- 
dren ? " 

"  Let  them  learn  now,"  said  John,  his  feverish  eyes 
flashing.  "  Let  them  see  justice  trample  on  love  while 
they  're  children.  It  won't  hurt  them  —  hurt  them  so 
—  later."  He  turned  abruptly  from  her. 

"  Wait !  "  cried  Pauline.  She  leaned  over  and  com- 
forted the  children.  "  There,  there,  darlings,  it 's  only 
a  story.  Just  keep  thinking  of  that.  It  never  really 
happened." 

She  led  them  still  sobbing  toward  the  door  just  as 
Mrs.  Bradley  hurried  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
"  Take  them,  mother,  please  take  them,"  said  Pauline 
and  turned  back  to  John.  For  a  long  moment  they 
stood  silent,  searching  each  other's  faces ;  then  Pauline 
raised  her  hand  to  her  breast  and  pressed  it  against  her 
throbbing  heart.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  asked, 
her  low  voice  vibrating.  "  What  are  you  trying  to 
do  ?  Don't  you  see  —  can't  you  see  — " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  John,  a  sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

Pauline  shook  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 
"  No, —  no,"  she  said.  "  Can't  you  see  ?  If  you  per- 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  241 

suade  me,  even  if  you  could  persuade  me,  who  do  you 
think  would  profit?  You  or  the  man  who  first  came 
to  me  like  —  like  light  in  the  morning  ?  " 

There  was  a  sudden  flash  of  understanding  in  John's 
eyes;  then  they  went  quite  dead,  his  face  turned  pale, 
and  his  shoulders  dropped.  He  was  dumb.  With  a 
motion  of  his  hand  he  turned  from  her  and  went  to  his 
room.  To  his  amazement,  rage  did  not  possess  him. 
Against  all  reason  he  found  that  he  was  not  thinking 
of  himself;  he  was  thinking  with  a  sort  of  stunned 
wonder,  not  of  Pauline  but  of  this  thing  that  was  greater 
than  Pauline.  In  that  moment  she  loomed  before  him 
in  a  new  aspect.  She  did  not  govern  nor  was  she  gov- 
erned; she  was  established.  Even  in  defeat  and  in 
abnegation  she  could  surrender  to  no  man  but  to  justice. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

JUST  before  the  supper  hour  John  stole  from  his 
room  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  children's  nur- 
sery. He  met  Mrs.  Bradley  coming  out.  "  Are  they 
asleep  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No"  she  said,  her  mouth  twitching  and  her  eyes 
avoiding  him.  "  They  would  n't  eat  their  supper  and 
I  could  n't  make  them  say  their  prayers.  I  've  put 
them  to  bed.  They  're  quiet  but  they  're  still  crying  a 
little.  Could  n't  you  —  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can,"  said  John.  "  Please  let  me  go 
in." 

He  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door  softly  be- 
hind him.  Ike  and  Christine  lay  with  their  backs 
toward  each  other,  curled  up  in  two  little  twin  beds. 
They  were  both  clinging  to  their  pillows  and  crying 
softly  with  spasmodic  jerks  as  though  the  machinery 
of  tears  had  almost  run  down. 

"  Children !  "  whispered  John. 

They  looked  up  quickly,  swallowing  their  sobs. 
"  What  ? "  said  Ike,  and  Christine  tried  to  speak  but 
only  made  a  funny  noise  in  her  throat. 

John  put  his  finger  on  his  lips  and  looked  mys- 
teriously over  his  shoulder.  "  Hush,"  he  said.  "  If 
I  tell  you  a  secret  about  Pot  and  Tot  will  you  promise 

never,  never  to  tell  —  never  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

242 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  243 

"  Not  mother  ?  "  whispered  Christine. 

"  Ner  Pauline  ?  "  asked  Ike. 

"  Never  till  to-morrow,"  said  John. 

"  I  promise/'  said  Ike.  Christine,  her  eyes  very 
wide,  nodded  her  head. 

John  picked  her  up,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  Ike's 
bed,  and  took  her  on  one  knee.  Ike  quickly  clambered 
to  the  other.  John  put  his  arms  around  their  soft 
warm  bodies  and  drew  them  close,  pressing  their  heads 
against  his  face.  Their  cheeks  were  wet  and  they  still 
caught  their  breath  occasionally  in  quivering  sniffs. 

"  You  know  the  terrible  time  Pot  and  Tot  had  with 
the  butterflies  ?  "  began  John. 

Both  children  nodded  their  heads  emphatically. 
"  Well,"  said  John,  "  it  all  happened  at  night,  one  night 
after  a  day  when  Pot  and  Tot  had  been  very  naughty. 
They  had  killed  one  teeny  weeny  butterfly  and  they  had 
climbed  into  the  pantry  and  eaten  a  lot  of  brown  sugar. 
Pot  had  eaten  twenty-two  lumps  and  Tot  had  eaten 
seventeen.  And  so  it  just  served  them  right  when  they 
had  that  awful  nightmare  about  being  killed  by  butter- 
flies." 

"  And  they  were  n't  really  truly  killed  ? "  asked 
Christine  hopefully. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  John.  "  A  nightmare 
frightens  you  terribly  and  makes  you  cry  but  it  never 
quite  kills  you.  It  only  teaches  you  a  lesson." 

"  Nightmares  is  bad  dreams,"  said  Ike,  pensively. 

Gradually  the  great  and  joyful  fact  that  Pot  and  Tot 
still  lived  soaked  into  the  children's  minds.  Christine 
gave  a  happy  gasp  and  clasped  her  hands;  Ike  jumped 


244  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

up  and  down  on  John's  knee  and  chanted,  "  They  jest 
dreamed  it !  They  jest  dreamed  it !  " 

John  gripped  the  two  little  bodies  firmly  and  began 
slowly  counting  their  ribs  with  searching,  tickling 
fingers.  The  children  giggled  and  a  moment  later  a 
double  shriek  of  treble  laughter  rang  through  the  house. 

At  the  supper  table  the  Eeverend  Paul,  Faith  Brad- 
ley, and  Pauline  had  been  sitting  for  some  time,  pa- 
tiently waiting  for  John  to  take  his  place.  The  Rev- 
erend Paul  had  cast  questioning  glances  at  his  wife's 
troubled  face,  at  Pauline's  moist  eyes  and  quivering 
lips,  and  had  caught  the  general  depressing  atmosphere. 
He  sat  frowning  and  tapping  the  table  with  his  fin- 
gers. 

At  the  double  peal  of  laughter  from  the  nursery  the 
cloud  on  his  brow  lifted  and  cleared  before  the  women 
folk  had  time  to  realize  what  was  happening.  His  face 
broke  into  a  smile  and  then  suddenly  took  on  its  look 
of  astonishment,  his  eyes  filled  with  happy  tears.  He 
hastily  took  off  his  blurred  glasses,  started  polishing 
them  with  his  napkin,  and  cried,  "  Bless  my  soul !  " 

John  had  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  dining- 
room,  bearing  a  child  on  each  arm,  pink  feet  just  peep- 
ing from  below  white  but  sadly  crumpled  nighties.  "  A 
very  hungry  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  and  a  very  hungry 
young  man." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  looking  at  the  chil- 
dren's excited  eyes,  "  they  '11  never  go  to  sleep  again !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will,"  said  John.  "  Just  as  soon  as 
you  fill  their  hollow  places.  But  not  with  lumps  of 
brown  sugar." 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  245 

"  Shsh !  "  cried  Christine  excitedly,  putting  one  hand 
over  John's  mouth. 

He  kissed  her  fingers  as  he  dropped  her  into  Pauline's 
lap  and  then  handed  Ike  over  to  his  mother. 

"  What 's  he  been  telling  you,  dear  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Bradley. 

Ike  laughed  excitedly.  "  Can't  tell,"  he  said. 
"  It  'a  a  secret. 

"  Can't  tell  never,"  said  Christine ;  "  never  till  to- 
morrow." 

John  got  his  full  reward  for  bringing  about  that 
happy  scene  when  he  said  his  almost  wordless  farewell 
on  the  following  morning.  Whatever  he  himself  had 
suffered  was  robbed  of  harsh  poignancy  by  the  unveiled 
love  of  the  hearts  that  had  welcomed  him  so  warmly  and 
that  now  grieved  so  frankly  over  his  departure.  The 
children  cried  and  would  not  be  comforted,  Mrs.  Brad- 
ley kissed  him ;  the  Reverend  Paul  put  on  his  hat  and 
took  it  off  several  times  absently  and  his  eyes  wandered 
sadly  around  as  though  they  tried  in  vain  to  find  a 
silver  lining  to  the  cloud  that  had  settled  on  the  house- 
hold. He  murmured  "  Bless  my  soul !  "  once  or  twice 
but  with  no  enthusiasm.  Pauline,  above  all,  was  kind. 
She  said  nothing  but  she  held  John's  hand  long  and  let 
him  see  two  tears  well  in  her  eyes  and  crawl  unheeded 
down  her  cheeks. 

In  those  tears  he  saw  her  strength,  humbled,  paying 
tribute;  her  cold  rectitude  warming  and  belying  itself 
to  the  pain  in  her  heart.  They  gave  him  a  mute  as- 
surance that  he  had  laid  his  touch  on  her  innermost 
self,  that  though  he  had  not  shaken  he  had  moved  her, 


246  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

that  even  in  losing  her  he  had  won  much,  and  that  come 
what  might,  her  memory  of  him  was  woven  too  deep 
into  the  woof  of  life  ever  to  be  cast  out  and  quite  for- 
gotten. 

John  made  his  way  to  McNeil's  house  in  a  strange 
mood.  He  did  not  know  it,  but  in  that  hour  the  assur- 
ance of  his  youth,  face  to  face  with  life,  began  to  wane. 
For  the  first  time  he  sensed,  though  vaguely,  the  duality 
of  a  man's  existence;  the  parallel  planes,  upon  one  of 
which  he  floats,  dreams,  and  aspires,  and  upon  the  other, 
of  which  he  actually  walks,  groping,  stubbing  his  toes, 
bumping  his  head,  and  bruising  himself  against  the 
concrete  ordinations  of  a  predestined  course. 

With  the  perception  of  this  duality  came  a  still 
deeper  understanding,  a  consciousness  of  that  correla- 
tion of  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  which  holds  behind  its 
veil  the  mystery  of  the  will.  However  blindly  a  man's 
will  drives  the  spirit,  however  blindly  it  is  driven  by 
material  things,  it  still  links  his  grosser  to  his  finer  self 
in  a  single  fate,  holds  plane  to  plane,  welds  the  two  into 
the  sum  of  being,  and  saves  him  from  the  dead  ashes  of 
an  absolute  predestination. 

John  wrinkled  his  brow,  striving  to  follow  this  double 
road  around  the  rock  of  fatalism,  but  wherever  he  sent 
his  thoughts  they  doubled  back  constantly  to  Pauline 
and  the  new  aspect  on  life  that  she  had  so  suddenly  pre- 
sented to  his  view.  As  he  looked  back  on  her  even 
from  that  near  distance  in  time  and  space  she  no  longer 
seemed  to  stand  alone;  she  was  molded  into  the  life 
about  her  and  into  the  family  group.  To  see  her,  to 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  247 

understand  her,  one  had  to  see  the  Reverend  Paul, 
Faith  Bradley,  and  even  Christine  and  Ike. 

John  remembered  what  McNeil  had  said  to  him. 
"  When  you  give  up  trying  to  think  out  the  Bradleys, 
come  to  me  and  I  '11  show  them  to  you  through  a  clear 
glass."  He  made  up  his  mind  to  remind  the  doctor 
of  his  promise. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  hard  on  the  Bradleys  for 
hours,"  he  found  occasion  to  say  that  night  when  the 
two  were  sitting  together  on  the  veranda  after  dinner, 
"  and  of  what  you  said  the  other  day." 

McNeil  studied  the  ash  on  his  cigar  and  flicked  it  off. 
"  Well  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  I  have  n't  got  very  far,"  said  John,  his  brows  puck- 
ered. "  I  only  know  that  to  the  heart  they  are  all  ten- 
derness, warmth,  lovingkindness ;  and  to  the  mind  a 
subtle  contradiction  of  all  that  is  soft  and  pliable.  You 
approach  them  without  fear,  they  welcome  you  with  the 
graciousness  of  those  who  live  only  to  give,  but  when 
you  would  strike  deep  and  move  them  you  find  you  can 
only  clutch  and  cling.  That  frightens  you.  There  's 
a  terror  about  anything  immutable,  even  if  it 's  an  un- 
merciful but  righteous  God.  Anything  that 's  ab- 
solutely unswerving,  consistently  just,  strikes  fear  into 
my  heart  — " 

"  And  into  mine,"  interrupted  McNeil. 

"  It  —  it  is  n't  right,"  finished  John,  weakly. 

"  It 's  puzzling,"  said  McNeil.  He  watched  the  glow 
of  his  cigar  in  silence  until  it  dimmed  and  turned  gray 
under  the  ash.  "  You  've  gone  a  long  way  with  the 


248  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

Bradleys,"  he  continued,  "  but  you  've  gone  only  half 
way." 

He  paused  again  and  frowned.  "  A  generation  or 
a  couple  of  generations  ago,"  he  resumed,  "  the  climax 
of  a  young  man's  growth  was  generally  marked  by  a  re- 
ligious upheaval  in  his  insides.  His  great  fight  was 
on  the  issue  of  belief  and  his  relations  to  accepted  creed. 
He  lived  in  a  metaphysical  atmosphere  electrically 
charged  with  doubt.  I  don't  suppose  the  history  of  the 
mind  has  witnessed  any  more  poignant  struggles  than 
took  place  and  still  take  place  on  that  battlefield.  But 
to-day  things  are  different.  Ethics  in  the  sense  of  ten- 
ets are  no  longer  the  main  obsession  of  those  who  are 
driven  in  the  search  for  what  is  truth." 

"  I  would  have  agreed  with  you  a  week  ago,"  said 
John.  "  But  now  — " 

"  But  now  you  're  puzzled,"  finished  the  doctor. 
"  You  've  momentarily  been  snatched  out  of  your  nat- 
ural environment.  You  're  confused  because,  for  the 
moment,  you  've  lost  sight  of  the  obsession  of  your  own 
generation." 

"  And  what 's  that  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  should  say  that  the  ob- 
session of  to-day  is  humanity.  I  don't  mean  that 
there  's  anything  new  about  'humanism,  but  that  it 's 
only  lately  become  a  preoccupation,  a  life  force,  and 
an  atmosphere,  the  only  atmosphere  which  you  and  I 
can  breathe  with  any  comfort  to  the  soul.  And  when 
I  say  humanism  I  don't  use  the  word  as  the  assumed 
label  of  a  philosophy  but  in  the  broad  sense  that  de- 
scribes the  age  when  we  are  trying  to  look  at  God 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  249 

through  man  as  opposed  to  the  epoch  when  we  looked  at 
man  through  a  far-away  God." 

"  And  where  do  the  Bradleys  come  in  on  all  this  ?  " 
asked  John. 

"  I  '11  show  you,"  said  McNeil.  "  Most  of  us  think 
of  the  elect  as  a  unique  division,  but  I  don't.  I  've 
tried  to  puzzle  it  out  and  I  've  come  to  see  in  the  elect 
a  divided  conglomeration,  made  up  of  those  who  are 
purified  by  their  own  sin  and  suffering  and  of  those 
who  are  purified  by  the  sins  and  the  suffering  of  others." 

He  waited  until  he  saw  a  gleam  of  understanding 
dawn  in  John's  eyes,  then  he  went  on.  "  Those  two 
elements  can't  mix  but  they  are  eternal  complements. 
They  can't  mingle  but  upon  their  inherent  affinity  rests 
the  fundamental  doctrine  of  redemption,  the  beating, 
life-giving  heart  of  Christianity.  The  generations  of 
the  one,  our  generation,  yours  and  mine,  comes  and 
goes ;  the  generation  of  the  other  is  established,  an  ever- 
lasting generation  in  whose  continuance  the  hope  of 
the  world  abides.  Its  house  is  built  solidly  upon  the 
rock  of  the  eternal  verities, —  charity,  faith,  honor,  jus- 
tice, and  mercy,  but  mercy  without  surrender.  Only 
the  unsullied  belong  to  it.  The  Bradleys  are  of  it. 
They  are  of  those  whose  eyes  are  steadfastly  fixed  on  a 
vision." 


BOOK  IV 


And  he  passed  into  a  land  where  hypocrites  die;  a  land  of  one 
great  word  and  of  a  single  sound.  Love's  the  word;  the  single 
sound,  the  beating  of  human  hearts. 


CHAPTEK  XXXI 

LIFE  of  to-day  is  so  laid  out  in  minutes,  each  with 
a  definite  commercial  value,  that  the  average 
American  winces  at  a  mere  statement  of  time.  What 
true  native  son  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  possible  Presi- 
dency or  directorship  can.  face  the  front  page  of  the 
usual  shipping  articles  ?  "  IT  Is  AGREED  by  the  Mas- 
ter and  seamen,  or  mariners  .  .  .  for  the  duration  of 
the  voyage  ...  or  for  a  term  of  time  not  exceeding 
24  calendar  months."  To  this  psychological  pressure 
alone  might  be  ascribed  the  wholesale  substitution  of 
native  by  alien  crews  on  such  of  our  sailing  ships  as 
still  cumber  the  seas. 

John  was  a  good  seaman  not  only  because  he  knew 
his  work  and  liked  it,  but  because  he  loved  the  sea. 
Twenty-four  calendar  months  had  no  terrors  for  him 
and  good  seamen  being  almost  as  rare  in  this  mechanical 
age  as  the  ships  that  bred  them,  he  was  proportionately 
appreciated.  Quite  naturally,  he  turned  to  the  deep 
sea  and  deep-sea  boats  to  find  a  balm  for  his  sore  heart. 
He  wondered  where  was  the  Alexandrine  and  with  a 
vague  idea  of  coming  up  with  her,  he  shipped  for  a 
long  voyage.  During  the  five  years  that  followed  he 
joined  only  three  vessels,  called  at  only  twelve  ports, 
and  the  five  years,  measured  by  events,  were  almost  as 
a  single  day. 

But  measured  by  growth  they  were  not  as  a  single 

253 


254  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

day.  Dr.  McNeil's  final  gift  had  been  Balfour's 
"  Foundations  of  Belief,"  the  most  bewildering,  the 
most  tantalizing  book  John  had  ever  read.  None  other 
could  have  given  such  a  twist  to  his  continental  philo- 
sophic viewpoint;  here  he  had  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind 
at  its  very  keenest,  standing  with  its  back  to  the  crum- 
bling wall  of  orthodoxy  and  defending  it  with  a  rapier 
wit  gleaming  through  mist. 

The  book  was  like  an  appetizer  to  John.  It  did  not 
satisfy  but  it  made  him  hungry.  He  started  buying 
everything  the  ports  he  put  in  at  could  supply  in  the 
way  of  modern  philosophies,  and  gradually  felt  his 
soul  befogged  in  the  smoke  of  the  great  battlefield  of 
the  mind :  science  taking  issue  with  divine  authority. 

No  single  conversation  ever  crystallized  the  character 
of  a  man,  but  there  are  many  men  who  can  look  back 
and  see  where  the  course  of  their  lives  veered  endlessly 
to  the  breath  of  half  a  dozen  words.  John's  last  serious 
talk  with  McNeil  did  not  culminate  a  period  in  his  life 
except  in  the  sense  that  birth  culminates  nonentity. 
It  was  not  in  itself  formative,  but  it  gave  him  a  check, 
bent  him  to  a  new  course,  and  brought  to  his  existence 
a  vague  sense  of  definite  direction. 

The  words  to  which  he  had  listened  that  night,  taken 
by  themselves,  were  a  mere  trifle;  but  taken  in  con- 
junction with  all  that  had  immediately  preceded  them, 
the  emotions,  the  spiritual  shock,  and  the  awakening 
that  had  come  to  him  in  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  new 
firmament  through  Pauline's  steady  eyes,  they  carried 
a  message  of  cumulative  weight,  gathering  volume  the 
more  he  pondered. 


JOHN   BOGAEDTJS  255 

There  was  nothing  spectacular  or  sudden  about  his 
development  from  this  crucial  point.  The  ultimate 
destination  of  any  inner-man  is  sometimes  measured  by 
a  single  act,  but  more  often  it  must  be  stated  in  terms 
of  years,  and  John's  was  the  commoner  lot.  His  inner 
self  had  been  moved,  shaken,  started  at  a  tangent,  but 
so  gradual  was  the  diversion  of  his  course  that  a  ret- 
rospective of  mere  months  would  have  deluded  him 
into  the  belief  that  the  stranger  who  had  been  taken  in 
by  the  Bradleys  was  the  same  man  that  went  forth 
from  them  as  a  friend. 

Where  every  day  is  alike,  the  years  grow  fast.  John 
was  almost  unconscious  of  time  until  he  awoke  to  sud- 
den realization.  He  had  been  like  a  man  who  throws 
himself  down  at  night,  tired  out,  and  the  next  moment 
awakes  to  find  the  morning  sun  blazing  in  his  face. 
John  looked  back  and  found  that  he  could  count  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand  all  the  happenings  of  physical  mo- 
ment contained  in  five  years :  a  flying  visit  to  his  father, 
the  blue,  blue  day  a  drunken  officer  piled  the  ship  high 
and  dry  on  the  coast  of  Cuba,  the  day  he  was  called  aft 
and  made  second  mate,  and  the  agony  of  the  moment 
when  he  knocked  a  seaman  off  the  poop,  down  the  gang- 
way, and  into  an  open  hatch,  and  was  saved  from  man- 
slaughter only  by  the  conjunction  of  a  miracle  and  a 
loose  cargo  of  grain. 

To  look  back  is  to  take  stock.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  John  took  stock  of  himself.  He  was  just  over 
thirty  years  old,  old  enough  to  look  back  and  see  the 
boy  he  had  been.  He  understood  many  things  now 
that  had  been  hidden  to  his  youth  and  to  his  father 


256  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

in  his  blindness.  He  could  see  the  reason  and  the 
mechanism  of  his  revolt  from  the  course  his  father  had 
laid  out  for  him.  It  was  the  same  reason  that  as  a  boy 
he  had  picked  upon  as  the  obstacle  to  his  being  a  teacher, 
only  now  he  saw  in  it  an  obstacle  to  life  itself.  He  had 
never  been  planted.  Life  had  blown  him  hither  and 
thither  like  a  bit  of  thistle-down. 

To-day  he  felt  that,  like  the  thistle-down,  he  bore  a 
seed  but  that  on  each  occasion  that  he  had  tried  to  settle 
down  and  take  root  some  vagrant  wind  had  caught  him 
up  and  blown  him  on.  Some  men  are  born  to  be  citi- 
zens of  the  world, —  no  city,  no  country,  is  large  enough 
to  hold  them  —  but  they  do  not  dawdle  away  five  years 
on  three  vessels.  John  knew  he  was  no  citizen  of  the 
world;  he  wondered  if  all  his  life  he  was  to  be  a  waif 
of  circumstance. 

Of  the  events  that  stood  out  in  the  blank  years, 
the  most  significant  was  his  promotion  aft.  That  day 
marked  the  beginning  of  the  decline  of  his  love  for  the 
life  of  a  mariner.  He  did  not  connect  his  change  of 
mood  with  the  leaven  that  had  been  working  in  him 
ever  since  he  left  San  Francisco,  but  he  gradually  rea- 
soned out  his  new  stand.  In  a  mechanical  age,  seamen 
in  the  old  sense  of  the  word,  even  stokers,  are  an  an- 
achronism. There  is  no  justification  left  for  an  indus- 
try whose  conditions  once  permitted  and  still  demand 
the  occasional  man-handling  of  men,  for  despite  the 
hedge  of  the  modern  law,  every  master  and  every  crew 
of  a  deep-sea  sailing  boat  knows  that  the  moment  comes, 
at  least  once  to  an  officer,  when  he  must  hit  and  hit  hard 
or  give  up  his  job. 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  257 

The  first  principle  of  John's  philosophy  of  personal 
freedom  was  that  he  should  do  no  distasteful  labor,  and 
bullying  seamen,  who  under  the  tension  of  seventy  days 
at  sea  were  as  disorganized  and  unruly  as  tired  chil- 
dren, had  become  a  decidedly  distasteful  task.  Con- 
sequently he  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  for  his  discharge. 
For  a  mariner  he  was  absurdly  well  in  funds.  At  the 
last  port  of  call  he  had  received  enclosed  in  a  letter  from 
his  father,  with  whom  he  had  left  the  Pot  and  Tot 
stories,  a  draft  of  such  magnitude  that  it  made  him 
ponder  long  on  the  distorted  values  the  world  puts  on 
the  trifles  of  the  mind. 

For  turning  out  of  the  fo'c's'le  as  an  able  seaman 
night  or  day,  in  snow,  rain,  heat,  or  cold,  standing  his 
watch  at  a  heavy  wheel  in  a  sea-way,  putting  his  back 
into  a  pull,  splicing  hawsers  till  his  hands  bled,  and 
otherwise  racking  his  whole  strong  body,  he  had  drawn 
thirty  dollars  a  month;  for  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the 
shade  spinning  yarns  to  two  tousle-headed  children  cud- 
dled in  his  arms  it  seemed  he  could  get  thirty  dollars 
an  hour.  But  it  was  very  simple  after  -all.  The  work 
of  his  hands  was  sold  but  once;  a  hundred  thousand 
consumers  could  stuff  themselves  on  Pot  and  Tot  at  a 
fraction  of  fifteen  cents  a  meal. 

He  left  the  ship  at  Capetown  and  put  up  at  a  modest 
hotel.  In  the  reading  room  was  an  old  copy  of  the 
Maritime  Register.  He  picked  it  up  and  began  turn- 
ing its  pages  aimlessly,  his  eyes  wandering  down  the 
columns  and  columns  of  names  of  ships  at  sea.  His 
glance  hung  on  the  name  of  the  Alexandrine.  "Alex- 
andrine" he  read,  "(sc)  Carr  928  Baltimore,  April  12 


258  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

—  Pensacola  &  Durban  &  Melbourne  &  Baltimore." 
He  looked  back  five  years  to  the  day  he  had  left 
San  Francisco  with  the  vague  intention  of  falling  in 
with  the  Alexandrine  somewhere.  Why  had  he  never 
thought  of  looking  her  up  before?  He  had  left  it  to 
chance  and  chance  had  played  him  a  trick.  Here  was 
the  Alexandrine  turning  up  just  when  he  had  finished 
with  ships  for  good  and  all ! 

He  took  passage  on  a  steamer  for  Durban  the  next 
day  and  felt  a  thrill  when  a  week  later  they  picked  up 
the  Bluff  light  just  before  midnight.  He  was  up  by 
dawn  and,  full  of  thoughts  of  the  Alexandrine,  of  Cap- 
tain Ike,  and  of  little  Janice,  he  leaned  on  the  steam- 
er's rail  just  under  the  bridge  and  watched  eagerly  for 
the  unfolding  of  a  familiar  and  oft  remembered  scene. 

Would  he  know  Janice  if  he  saw  her?  He  counted 
back  through  the  years  and  got  his  second  shock  from* 
time.  Little  Janice  would  be  little  no  more ;  she  would 
be  a  woman  or  almost  a  woman.  Seventeen,  eighteen 
years  old,  he  didn't  know  which,  but  in  any  case  old 
enough  to  have  quite  forgotten  the  man  who  had  been 
nurse  to  her  for  three  months  and  young  enough  to 
blush  for  it  if  she  were  reminded. 

As  his  mind  played  around  the  memory  of  her,  try- 
ing to  picture  what  sort  of  girl  he  would  find,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  depression  subduing  his  high  spirits. 
He  looked  about  with  suddenly  opened  eyes.  The  scene 
was  changed;  the  port  had  grown  almost  beyond  recog- 
nition. New  sheds,  new  warehouses,  and  many  new 
hotels  had  sprung  up  in  a  variegated  jumble  of  brick, 
concrete,  and  painted  iron  roofing. 


JOHN    BOGAKDUS  259 

In  the  water  before  him  crouched  the  hard  masonry 
of  the  double  breakwater,  enclosing  a  deep  channeled 
gut  that  led  to  a  mighty  wharf  crowded  with  sheds 
whose  broad  roofs  were  overtopped  by  the  funnels  of 
great  liners.  Far,  far  up  the  bay  the  spars  of  a  few 
lonely  sailing  vessels  stood  like  cobwebs  against  the  sky, 
like  the  cold  gray  limbs  of  bare  trees  in  winter.  John 
heaved  a  sigh.  In  every  port  it  was  like  that.  A  back- 
yard anchorage  for  the  clipper  ships,  a  graveyard  for 
the  Flying  Dutchmen  that  haunt  the  scenes  of  an  age 
that  knows  them  not. 

On  his  right  stretched  the  Beach,  now  buried  in 
macadam,  masonry,  restaurants,  piers,  scenic  railways, 
formal  lawns,  bathing  booths,  claptrap,  paper  bags,  and 
orange  peels.  It  seemed  to  breathe  and  smell  of 
throngs  of  people,  wet  bathing  clothes  and  babies.  Had 
its  crowds  quite  swallowed  the  Janice  who  had  sat  above 
it  with  him  on  lonely,  wind-swept  dunes  and  watched 
untainted  seas  crash  and  break  on  the  long  line  of  its 
shimmering  sands  ?  He  sighed  for  the  phantom  scenes 
that  live  no  longer  save  in  the  hearts  that  loved  them ; 
for  cities  and  ports,  like  people,  can't  stretch  out  their 
childhood  days  forever. 

Feeling  very  glum  he  stepped  ashore,  but  he  clung 
to  the  hope  that  Captain  Ike  and  his  ship  had  not  yet 
cleared  and  that  the  captain  would  cheer  him  up.  A 
boatman  reassured  him.  A  few  minutes  later  he  was 
hailing  the  loafing  mate  of  the  Alexandrine.  Yes,  the 
skipper  was  aboard.  He  clambered  up  and  over  the 
rail. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  mate. 


260  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

"  Don't  bother,"  said  John.  "  No  one  has  to  give 
me  my  bearings  on  this  craft.  I  've  sailed  in  her." 

He  made  his  way  aft  and  found  Captain  Ike  asleep 
in  the  same  old  Bombay  chair  in  which  John  had  once 
passed  a  sleepless  night.  He  did  not  wake  the  cap- 
tain immediately.  He  stood  and  stared  at  him  and 
then  at  the  ship.  Captain  Ike  had  gone  very  gray ;  the 
Alexandrine  had  gone  gray.  Even  in  sleep  the  cap- 
tain's lined  face  gave  little  hope  of  cheer.  John  struck 
the  deck  with  his  heel,  gave  the  thump  that  to  a  skipper 
is  like  a  bugle  call. 

Captain  Ike  sprang  erect  in  his  chair.  "  Eh ! 
What  ?  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  cried,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  eyes.  Then  he  flushed  with  the  annoy- 
ance of  any  one  suddenly  aroused  and  got  slowly  to  his 
feet.  He  stared  long  at  John.  His  face  slowly  lit 
up.  "  Well,  son,"  he  said,  "  how  are  ye  ?  " 

They  sat  down  for  a  long  talk  and  John  soon  found 
that  his  premonition  had  been  correct.  Captain  Ike 
was  full  and  overflowing  with  worries.  Low  freights, 
short  charters,  defection  of  the  true  seaman  breed,  the 
high  repair  accounts  that  go  with  inefficient  crews,  and 
a  dozen  other  woes  proved  that  he  had  realized  the  fact 
that  he  and  his  ship  belonged  to  the  world's  army  of 
supernumeraries,  due  for  retirement  without  a  pension. 

But  John's  presence  acted  on  him  like  a  stimulant. 
His  eyes  twinkled  and  wrinkled  at  the  corners  and  his 
shoulders  tried  to  straighten.  "  You  Ve  jest  got  time 
to  get  your  kit,  sign  on,  and  climb  aboard,"  he  said, 
slapping  John  on  the  shoulder.  "  We  're  towing  out 
on  the  next  tide." 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  261 

John  shook  his  head.     "  Not  this  time,"  he  said. 

"  Ner  any  other  time,  eh  ? "  said  Captain  Ike,  sud- 
denly gloomy  again  and  as  subdued  as  though  he  had 
quite  lost  the  art  of  insistence. 

"  You  see,  Captain,"  said  John,  "  I  've  just  this 
morning  blown  in.  I  want  to  go  up  there  on  the  hill." 
He  nodded  his  head  toward  the  Berea. 

"  No  use,"  said  Captain  Ike.  "  I  tried  to  find  her 
two  voyages  ago.  She  an'  the  folks  you  left  her  with 
cleared  out  in  the  smash-up  after  the  war.  Hard  times 
they  had  here  an'  no  mistake.  Guess  they  couldn't 
weather  the  gale." 

He  spoke  listlessly  and  when  John  got  up  to  say  good- 
by  he  let  him  go  without  another  word  about  joining  the 
Alexandrine.  John  went  ashore  and  hung  around  un- 
til he  saw  a  tug  bustle  up  and  take  her  in  tow;  then 
he  got  his  baggage  and  established  himself  at  a  hotel. 

The  next  morning  he  started  his  search  for  a  trace 
of  Janice.  He  had  forgotten  the  name,  heard  but  once, 
of  the  people  with  whom  he  had  left  her,  but  he  soon 
found  that  out.  It  was  Dorien.  Then  he  learned  that 
Captain  Ike  had  been  right.  The  Doriens  had  gone 
down  in  the  financial  crisis  that  followed  the  war.  For 
a  time  they  had  leaned  on  friends,  and  that  had  led,  as 
usual,  to  the  alienation  of  friendships.  One  defection 
in  especial  had  cut  Dorien  to  the  quick.  He  had 
brooded  on  it  and  finally  shot  himself.  Mrs.  Dorien 
had  realized  what  she  could  from  every  available  source 
and  sailed  for  England,  taking  Janice  with  her.  No 
one  that  John  could  find  had  since  heard  from  them. 
Feeling  desperately  lonely,  he  left  the  scenes  that 


262  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

had  so  depressed  him  and  made  his  way  slowly  up  the 
coast.  An  island  city  attracted  him,  it  was  so  old,  so 
dead,  so  left  out  and  behind  of  the  onward  sweep  of 
the  world.  Here  he  lingered,  and  one  day  came  upon 
the  figure  of  a  native  standing  at  the  edge  of  a  deserted 
beach  and  gazing  fixedly  at  the  mainland.  John  ap- 
proached and  stared  at  the  face  of  the  black  boy.  It 
was  eloquent  with  a  loneliness  so  infinitely  beyond  his 
own  that  he  felt  as  though  the  burden  had  suddenly  been 
lifted  from  his  heart. 

He  spoke  to  the  boy  but  got  no  answer.  He  motioned 
to  him  to  follow  him,  took  him  to  the  room  he  had  hired, 
and  fed  him.  The  boy  ate  ravenously  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  stopped  of  a  sudden  and  stared  before  him. 
Presently  he  roused  himself,  started  putting  the  room 
in  order  and  brushing  John's  clothes.  John  watched 
him  in  wonder,  then  he  smiled.  The  lonely  black  was 
a  trained  houseboy.  He  evidently  considered  himself 
engaged. 


JOHN'S  servant  was  not  altogether  dumb;  besides 
his  native  language  he  could  speak  a  few  words 
of  Portuguese.  He  said  that  his  name  was  Muno- 
Muno  and  that  he  was  far  from  his  native  land.  When 
at  the  end  of  a  week  John  offered  to  send  him  home 
he  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  his  eyes  grew  large  and 
glassy,  and  he  shook  his  head  in  refusal. 

John  found  an  interpreter  and  learned  the  boy's  tale, 
astounding  to  a  European,  a  thing  of  every  day  to  a 
native.  Muno-Muno  was  banished.  His  father  had 
gone  mad,  run  amuck,  and  killed  a  man  of  another 
family.  Muno-Muno  had  been  offered  in  atonement. 
He  had  run  away.  He  could  never  go  back  except  to 
die.  His  own  family  would  be  the  first  to  kill  him. 

John  was  loath  to  believe  that  such  a  law  still  ruled, 
but  one  glance  at  Muno-Muno's  face  told  him  beyond 
any  argument  that  it  was  so.  "  What,"  he  asked  of  the 
interpreter,  "  if  the  man  that  was  attacked  had  killed 
the  madman  ? " 

"  Eh !  "  said  the  interpreter,  grinning.  "  His  life 
forfeit  When  a  madman  come,  you  run  plenty,  tell 
his  family,  his  family  kill  him,  nobody  pay  forfeit." 

When  John  got  a  chance  at  a  cheap  passage  on  a 
freighter  bound  for  New  York  with  a  cargo  of  mangrove 

bark,  Muno-Muno  went  on  board  with  the  baggage  and 

263 


264  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

refused  to  leave.  He  crouched  under  the  rail,  put  his 
arms  around  a  stanchion,  and  shook  his  head  from  side 
to  side  to  everything  that  John  said. 

"  Shall  we  chuck  him  over  for  you  ? "  asked  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  No,"  said  John,  smiling  a  little  ruefully  at  the 
trouble  he  was  laying  in  for  himself.  "  I  '11  take  him 
along." 

After  an  uneventful  voyage  of  forty-five  days  the 
freighter  entered  New  York  harbor  and  John  set  out 
with  Muno-Muno  for  his  old  lodgings.  The  house  was 
closed.  He  could  find  no  trace  of  its  former  occupants 
nor  did  he  ever  learn  what  had  become  of  the  things 
he  had  stored  with  them.  He  tried  to  pass  the  portals 
of  various  modest  hotels  but  found  that  even  the 
servants'  quarters  of  these  hostelries  balked  at  receiving 
Muno-Muno,  who.  presented  a  weird  figure,  got  up  as 
he  was  in  various  tags  and  ends  of  clothing  purchased 
during  the  voyage  by  John  from  sailors  of  different 
sizes. 

Toward  evening  John  was  growing  distracted  and 
his  cab  bill  was  assuming  the  proportions  of  a  mortgage. 
He  voiced  his  despair  to  the  proprietor  of  a  last  hotel 
who  had  been  called  in  consultation  by  the  clerk. 
"  You  see,"  said  John.  "  I  can't  put  him  up  at  a  col- 
ored hotel  and  myself  here  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  can't  talk  a  word  of  English.  He  'd  be  absolutely 
helpless.  Never  saw  a  white  man  till  five  years  ago 
and  never  put  a  hat  on  till  to-day,  or  trousers,  for  that 
matter." 

"  Gee !  "   said  the   proprietor.     "  Is  that   straight  ? 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  265 

Why  did  n't  you  tell  us  he  ain't  a  nigger  ?  "  He  turned 
to  the  clerk.  "  Send  for  Sam." 

In  the  few  moments  they  awaited  the  head  porter, 
two  or  three  waiters  and  half  a  dozen  bellboys  gathered 
unrebuked  about  the  black  boy,  who  was  staring  straight 
ahead  with  fixed  eyes,  and  a  lobby  loiterer  drew 
near.  In  the  background  hovered  the  anxious  cab- 
man. 

"  What 's  his  name  ?  "  asked  the  proprietor. 

"  Muno-Muno,"  said  John. 

The  boy's  face  lighted.  "  Ya,  baas,"  he  said  quickly, 
turning  his  eyes  on  John. 

"  Gee !  "  breathed  a  young  bellboy.  "  Did-ya  hear 
'im?" 

The  head  porter  arrived,  scowling.  "  Look  here, 
Sam,"  said  the  proprietor.  "  Don't  you  make  no  mis- 
take. This  ain't  a  nigger ;  it 's  a  African.  Put  him 
away  somewhere  and  look  after  him.  He  belongs  to 
this  gent." 

John  saw  his  chance.  He  drew  the  porter  aside  and 
handed  him  a  couple  of  bills.  "  When  you  can  get  off," 
he  said,  "  take  him  out  and  fit  him  up  with  the  right 
clothes  so  he  '11  look  like  a  neat  servant.  Nothing  loud 
or  fancy  and  don't  try  to  make  more  than  two  dollars 
out  of  it  for  yourself." 

Sam  grinned  as  he  took  the  money.  "  Leave  it  to 
me,"  he  said  enigmatically. 

That  evening  when  John,  under  the  leadership  of  the 
proprietor,  looked  up  Muno-Muno  to  see  how  he  was 
getting  along,  he  found  him  sitting  absolutely  impas- 
sive before  all  the  pages  off  duty,  the  head  laundress, 


266  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

four  chambermaids,  the  head  porter,  and  three  waiters, 
who  were  pressing  various  dainties  upon  him. 

"  Here,  all  o'  you,"  growled  the  proprietor.  "  What 
d'  ya  think  this  is  ?  A  dead-head  show  runnin'  against 
the  movies  ?  Get  outside  and  blow  your  nickels." 

"  Cut  it  out,"  said  one  of  the  waiters  indignantly. 
"  We  ain't  lookin'  at  him.  We  can't  make  him  eat." 

John  laughed.  "  Bring  him  a  big  bowl  of  rice,"  he 
said,  "  and  take  away  the  cutlery.  A  little  fried  fish 
tumbled  on  top  of  the  rice  will  make  him  love  you  for- 
ever." 

During  the  days  that  followed  Muno-Muno  would 
have  been  utterly  spoiled  by  the  staff  had  it  not  been 
for  the  barrier  of  language  and  the  grief  that  never  left 
him.  He  himself  was  an  unfailing  object  of  curiosity, 
but  nothing  seemed  to  rouse  his  interest.  When  an 
aboriginal  African  is  happy  anything  new  delights  him ; 
he  will  chortle,  jabber,  and  caper.  But  let  him  be  filled 
with  a  lasting  sadness  or  even  downcast  and  he  will  meet 
his  first  horse,  motor-car,  telephone,  airship,  or  any 
other  modern  wonder  with  an  impenetrable  apathy. 

In  his  new  surroundings  the  boy  showed  no  emotion 
until  the  day  that  John  explained  to  him  that  he  must 
wait  where  he  was  for  a  few  days,  and  then  he  betrayed 
his  feelings  only  by  a  glance  beseeching  as  short  a  sepa- 
ration as  possible.  John  reassured  him  and  decided 
to  make  this  first  visit  to  his  father  a  very  brief  one. 
He  left  by  an  early  train  and  before  noon  reached  the 
old  university  town.  He  went  straight  to  his  father's 
house  and  to  his  amazement  found  it  in  possession  of 
utter  strangers.  Professor  Bogardus?  No,  he  no 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  267 

longer  lived  there.  He  had  moved.  A  maid  would  go 
with  John  to  the  corner  and  point  out  the  way  to  the 
professor's  new  abode. 

John  found  his  father  in  one  of  those  horribly  new 
little  houses  whose  patch  of  lawn  still  looks  like  a  grubby 
beard  and  which  are  possessed  and  possess  everything 
that  touches  them  with  an  air  of  transiency;  the  sort 
of  house  one  hesitates  to  call  a  dwelling.  The  profes- 
sor was  in  a  room  furnished  with  unfamiliar  furni- 
ture of  as  cheap  a  grade  as  the  house.  The  large 
chair  in  which  he  sat  carried  an  air  of  having  tried 
to  accommodate  itself  to  an  angular  apology  for  a  bow- 
window  and  been  pushed  out. 

James  Bogardus  himself  was  transformed.  He  was 
old,  shabbily  dressed,  he  had  lost  his  erect  carriage,  and 
his  quick,  bird-like  movements.  Only  his  eyes  re- 
mained the  same,  extraordinarily  brilliant  as  they 
realized  the  presence  of  his  son.  "  Well,  well !  "  he 
cried,  getting  slowly  to  his  feet.  "  Where  do  you  hail 
from,  Mr.  Budding  Author  ?  " 

John  sat  down  on  one  of  the  new  chairs  and  felt  it 
give  beneath  him.  He  answered  his  father's  greeting 
cheerfully ;  then  his  face  grew  grave.  "  Father,"  he 
said  with  a  glance  around,  "  what 's  the  meaning  of 
this?" 

The  elder  Bogardus's  eyes  shifted  nervously. 
"  This  ?  "  he  said.  "  Oh,  it 's  easily  understood.  You 
can  understand  that  the  old  house  was  too  big  for  me,  a 
little  beyond  my  means.  A  chance  came  to  let  it,  all 
furnished,  just  as  it  stood,  and  the  opportunity  seemed 
too  good  to  miss  —  too  good  to  miss."  His  eyes  wan- 


268  JOHN    BOGARDTJS 

dered  over  everything  except  John.  "  I  'm  quite  com- 
fortable," he  finished  vaguely. 

"  Look  here,  Father,"  said  John,  as  though  he  were 
speaking  to  a  child.  "  You  tell  me  the  truth." 

The  professor's  lined  face  set  stubbornly  for  a  mo- 
ment; then  it  lit  up  with  a  sudden  change  of  decision. 
He  fixed  his  brilliant  eyes  on  John.  A  twinkle  shone 
in  them.  "  You  want  the  truth,  eh  ?  "  he  said  in  his  old 
manner.  "  Well,  you  shall  have  it.  Tell  it  not  in 
Gath,  my  son,  but  eight  months  ago  —  eight  months 
and  three  days,  to  be  exact  —  at  somewhat  after  the 
midnight  hour,  your  father  held  four  kings  against  four 
aces  and  —  and  made  the  aces  call !  " 

"  Whew !  "  said  John,  his  face  full  of  sympathy. 
"  What  did  it  cost  ?  But  never  mind.  Don't  tell  me. 
Is  there  a  mortgage  on  the  old  house  ? " 

"  No,  oh,  no,"  said  the  professor,  mildly.  "  You  see, 
he  called  me." 

Then  John  grinned  while  his  father  looked  away  and 
frowned.  "  You  can  appreciate,"  he  said  sadly,  "  what 
a  blow  it  was  to  my  theory  of  the  science  of  Poker.  It 
shows  up  the  weak  spot  and  that  is  that  there  are  shades 
of  calculation  utterly  beyond  the  range  of  the  human 
mind.  It  was  a  great  disappointment  and  coming  as  it 
did  just  as  I  had  completed  the  revision  of  my  mono- 
graph on  the  game  it  was  a  great  shock." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  John,  "  if  it  drove  you  to 
living  like  this." 

The  professor  stared  at  him  in  commiseration. 
"  You  misunderstand  me,"  he  said  coldly.  "  The 


JOHN   BOGARBUS  269 

shock  was  in  having  the  aces  call.     He  should  never 
have  called." 

John  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  aloud.  Then 
he  sobered  and  got  down  to  business.  First  he  moved 
his  father  to  a  luxurious  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Inn, 
then  he  tackled  the  people  who  were  living  in  the  pro- 
fessor's old  home.  He  let  words  throw  them  into  a 
fiery  consternation  and  then  calmed  and  conquered  the 
flames  with  a  surprising  flood  of  cold  and  eloquent  cash. 
In  two  days  they  had  moved  out;  in  another  the  pro- 
fessor was  back  in  his  old  beloved  library,  sighing  over 
and  over  again  with  content,  and  following  his  son 
about  with  a  wistful  and  loving  gaze. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AS  John  settled  down  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  par- 
lor-car on  his  way  back  to  town,  an  extravagance 
that  seemed  a  mere  trifle  in  comparison  with  the  checks 
he  had  been  signing  for  his  father's  benefit,  he  noticed' 
that  a  young  man  sitting  opposite,  twirling  a  diminu- 
tive mustache,  had  laid  down  his  paper  and  was  study- 
ing his  face  intently. 

Presently  the  young  man  swung  his  chair  around 
and  leaned  across  the  aisle.  "  Is  n't  your  name 
Bogardus  ?  "  he  asked. 

John  looked  up,  surprised,  and  stared  at  the  stran- 
ger's face.  While  it  was  vaguely  familiar,  he  could  not 
quite  place  it.  "  Yes,"  he  said  doubtfully,  but  smiling. 

"  You  've  forgotten  me,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  'm 
Jack  Holson,  the  fellow  that  tried  to  keep  you  from 
firing  yourself.  I  remember  I  even  bearded  the  Dean 
in  his  den." 

John's  face  lighted  up.  "  Of  course  I  remember  you. 
It 's  that  mustache  that  put  me  off." 

"  I  know  a  mustache  is  n't  at  all  the  thing,"  said 
Holson,  "  but  I  've  just  come  back  from  Europe  and  I 
always  wear  one  over  there  to  keep  down  the  tips  at 
being  recognized  for  an  American  and  to  save  myself 
from  being  taken  for  an  actor.  I  ought  to  have  shaved 
it  off  but  I  've  sort  of  grown  used  to  it  this  time  and 

it  gives  me  something  to  do  with  my  hands." 

270 


JOHN   BOGAKDTJS  271 

John  laughed.  He  felt  light-hearted  and  at  ease 
with  Holson.  They  went  to  the  diner  together  for 
lunch  and  after  that  drifted  into  the  club  car  where 
they  could  smoke  and  talk  in  an  approximate  privacy. 
In  giving  a  mere  outline  of  how  he  had  spent  the  years 
that  had  intervened  since  they  had  separated  in  the 
classroom,  John  made  Holson  open  his  eyes  in  wonder 
and  a  puzzled  disapproval. 

"  So  you  Ve  just  loafed,"  he  commented  at  last ; 
"  made  your  living  but  got  nothing  in  the  bank  to  show 
for  wear  and  tear  and  the  general  depreciation  of  your 
plant." 

John  smiled.  "  Less  money  to-day  than  when  I 
started,"  he  acknowledged. 

Holson  seemed  still  puzzled.  "  You  don't  seem  to 
mind  it  much,"  he  said,  "  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't 
tell  you  why  you  ought  to,  but  of  course  you  ought.  I 
can't  say  that  I  feel  any  more  comfortable  than  you 
look,  but  I  'm  drawing  down  a  pretty  decent-sized 
yearly  pay  envelope." 

"  Married  ?  "  asked  John. 

Holson  frowned.  "  What  made  you  ask  that  ?  No, 
I  'm  not.  They  tell  me  I  'm  always  looking  for  it, 
though."  Then  he  changed  the  subject.  "  Where  are 
you  staying  ? " 

John  told  him. 

"  God !  "  said  Holston,  pityingly.  "  Are  you  as  hard 
up  as  that  ?  " 

"  No,  not  quite,"  said  John,  grinning,  and  told  him 
what  an  obstacle  Muno-Muno  had  been  to  his  getting 
any  lodging  at  all.  Then  he  explained  that  his  resi- 


272  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

dence  was  temporary,  that  he  expected  to  make  enough 
money  by  writing  to  keep  a  little  place  in  the  country, 
and  would  n't  Holson  give  him  a  pointer  or  two  where 
to  look  ? 

"  Well,"  said  Holson,  gravely,  "  it  all  depends  on 
what  class  you  're  in.  The  writer  breed  flock  together 
just  like  stockbrokers  or  any  other  business  bunch. 
There  's  the  lily-handed  Boston  crowd  on  the  East  and 
the  virile  life-in-the-open  rough-necks  south  of  'Frisco 
on  the  extreme  West.  Sliced  in  between  there  's  the 
Indiana  domestics,  a  Ha-Ha  crowd  at  Mount  Kisco,  a 
settlement  of  comic-dramatics  and  movie  binders  around 
Lake  Hopatcong,  and  a  large  sprinkling  of  miscel- 
laneous has-beens  in  the  Connecticut  hills." 

"  Thanks,"  said  John,  "  but  what  I  want  is  a  very 
small  house  in  a  decent-sized  wilderness,  somewhere 
that  I  can  take  my  ease  in  pajamas  on  the  front  stoop." 

"  Are  you  serious  about  the  wilderness  part  of  it  ?  " 
said  Holson,  "  Because  if  you  are  I  '11  show  you  a  hand- 
me-down  that  will  fit  as  if  it  was  tailor-made." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  If  I  said  right  here  in  this  State  you  'd  laugh, 
would  n't  you  ?  But  just  remember  that  three  miles 
from  a  railway  in  New  Jersey  is  as  good  as  thirty  in 
Wyoming.  What  are  you  doing  next  Sunday  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  John. 

"  Well,  tell  that  slave  of  yours  to  call  you  at  six 
sharp.  I  '11  pick  you  up  in  time  to  catch  the  seven 
o'clock  ferry.  It  will  be  a  long  run  but  we  can  do  it." 

"Motor?"  asked  John. 

"  Yes,"  said  Holson. 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  2T3 

"  It 's  awfully  good  of  you  to  take  the  trouble.  I  '11 
be  ready  and  waiting." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  ?  "  asked  Holson.  "  Do  you 
trot?" 

"  Trot  ? "  said  John.  "  What  d'  you  mean  ?  Don't 
forget  I  'm  several  years  behind  the  local  language." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Holson.  "  I  forgot.  Well,  put 
your  gladdest  clothes  on  this  afternoon  and  let  me  show 
you  the  dotage  of  our  little  town.  Everybody  will  be 
glad  to  see  you ;  it 's  such  a  pleasure  to  find  some  one 
now-a-days  that  you  can  surprise." 

By  five  o'clock  John  was  being  surprised  and  making 
no  secret  of  it.  The  gilded  room  and  the  gilded  flunkies 
of  a  cafe  chantant,  Americanized  and  raised  to  the  nth 
power,  the  odor  of  wines,  cocktails,  and  scented  ciga- 
rettes and,  above  all,  the  well-dressed  throng  of  excited 
dancers  twined  in  the  eccentric  movements  of  the  hey- 
day of  the  shake-your-shoulders  rag,  hit  him  in  the  very 
pit  of  the  emotions  and  made  him  gasp  for  his  mental 
balance.  He  remembered  how  shocked  he  had  been 
at  his  first  initiation  to  the  American  waltz,  apologized 
to  Joan  in  his  mind,  and  laughed  out  loud. 

"  Some  leg-show,  eh  ? "  said  Holson,  watching  John's 
surprise  with  satisfaction.  "  Look  at  old  Mrs.  Dunnel. 
Sixty,  if  she's  a  day.  I  tell  you,  Bogardus,  nobody 
had  any  idea  of  the  physical  vitality  of  our  old  Puritan 
stock  till  the  rag  hit  New  York.  Come  on  over.  I 
want  you  to  meet  her  daughter." 

Holson  introduced  John  to  Miss  Geraldine  Dunnel, 
but  managed,  as  many  men  do,  to  give  the  impression 
that  he  was  presenting  the  girl  for  inspection.  It  was 


274  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

as  though  he  said,  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 
and  stood  by,  intently  watching  for  an  unconscious 
verdict. 

Miss  Dunnel  interested  John  until  he  learned  that 
she  was  merely  an  index-card  to  a  type.  She  was  small 
but  beautiful  in  the  manner  of  a  cameo.  Her  contours 
were  all  faintly  defined  but  clear,  her  hands  and  feet 
exquisitely  formed,  her  face  alight  but  hard.  She  paid 
no  attention  to  what  was  being  said,  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  band,  and  the  moment  it  struck  up  her  whole 
body  twitched.  She  rose  and  literally  fell  toward  Hoi- 
son.  He  caught  her  and  they  moved  away. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mrs.  Dunnel,  "  don't  you 
dance?" 

John  jumped  in  his  chair.     "  No-no,"  he  stammered. 

Mrs.  Dunnel  raised  one  expressive  shoulder  and  half 
turned  from  him.  John  looked  at  her  curiously.  The 
fever  in  her  eyes  was  the  selfsame  fever  as  shone  in  the 
faces  of  the  dancers,  only  it  looked  half-starved.  He 
felt  for  her  as  one  feels  sorry  for  a  drug-fiend  cut  off 
from  supplies.  "  I  wish  I  did,"  he  murmured  con- 
ciliatingly,  but  promptly  regretted  his  overture  when 
she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  said  resolutely,  "  Come  on. 
I  '11  teach  you." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WHEN  Holson,  driving  his  own  car,  drew  up  at 
the  curb  before  the  hotel  early  on  Sunday 
morning  he  found  John  ready  and  waiting,  with  Muno- 
Muno  standing  in  the  background  looking  sad  even 
beyond  his  usual  depression.  "  Is  that  the  heathen  ?  " 
asked  Holson.  "What's  the  matter  with  him?  He 
looks  as  if  he  'd  never  seen  a  league  game  in  his  life. 
Smile,  Sambo.  Show  your  teeth." 

"  Poor  devil,"  said  John.  "  You  don't  know  how  it 
makes  him  feel  to  have  me  leave  him.  He  can't  speak 
a  word  of  English  and  he  does  n't  dare  go  ten  steps 
from  the  hotel  alone." 

"  Bring  him  along,"  said  Holson,  promptly.  "  Put 
him  in  the  back  seat  to  keep  it  from  flopping  over  on 
us." 

The  car  made  slow  progress  until  it  had  crossed  the 
ferry  and  climbed  the  Jersey  heights,  but  once  on  the 
Boulevard,  Holson  began  to  let  her  out  and  on  the  long, 
straight  stretch  across  the  flats  they  were  doing  a  com- 
fortable forty  miles  an  hour  when  they  struck  a  dust 
pocket.  "  Is  he  there  yet  ? "  asked  Holson  as  they 
landed  from  the  bump. 

John  glanced  back  at  Muno-Muno.  "  He 's  there, 
all  right,  but  his  hat 's  gone  and  his  teeth  are  chatter- 


ing." 


275 


276  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

"  Tell  him  to  wrap  himself  in  the  rug  if  he  's  cold." 

John  pulled  the  rug  from  its  rail  and  threw  it  at 
Muno-Muno.  The  boy  spread  it  over  his  knees  and 
drew  it  higher  and  higher,  his  glassy  eyes  fixed  im- 
movably on  the  back  of  his  master's  head.  He  never 
glanced  at  the  landscape  tearing  by.  Presently  he  be- 
gan to  wrap  himself  in  the  rug  from  the  waist  up. 

The  car,  speeding  south,  passed  through  city,  town, 
and  village  with  a  fine  adjustment  of  speed  that  spoke 
eloquently  of  Holson's  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
local  foibles  of  the  police ;  consequently  he  was  puzzled 
to  find  that  everybody  he  met  turned  and  stared  and  that 
the  people  were  even  lined  up  in  the  villages  and  wait- 
ing. 

"  Somebody  must  of  yelled,  '  Car  coming !  over  the 
telephone,"  muttered  Holson,  and  a  moment  later  swore 
as  a  motor-bike  constable  ranged  up  alongside  and  hailed 
him. 

"  Well,"  said  Holson,  trying  his  best  to  look  pleasant. 
"  What  is  it  ?  Are  you  afraid  I  '11  catch  up  to  a  fu- 
neral ? " 

"  It  ain't  yer  speed  this  time,"  said  the  constable, 
turning  a  deep  red,  "  but  what  are  ya  carrying?  "  He 
jerked  his  head  toward  the  tonneau. 

Neither  Holson  nor  John  had  looked' back  for  many 
miles.  They  did  so  now  and  their  jaws  dropped. 
Muno-Muno,  completely  enveloped  head  and  all  but 
especially  head,  after  the  fashion  of  Africa  feeling  a  bit 
cold,  was  sitting  cross-legged  in  the  exact  center  of  the 
back  seat  as  impassive  and  awe-inspiring  a  column  of 
mystery  as  the  wife  of  Lot  after  the  transformation. 


JOHN   BOGARDUS 

The  car  had  come  to  a  stop  just  in  front  of  a  cigar 
store,  the  village  center  of  leisure  and  gossip,  and  was 
soon  surrounded  by  an  interested  throng. 

"  What  is  it,  mister  ? "  whispered  a  freckle-faced 
urchin,  hoarsely. 

"  Muno-Muno !  "  cried  John. 

'  Ya,  baas,"  replied  the  pillar  and  gradually  worked 
an  ebony  head  up  through  the  tight  folds  of  the  blanket. 
Muno-Muno  stared  absolutely  impassive  at  the  face  of 
his  master. 

"  Gee !  "  breathed  a  youngster,  "  c'n  it  say  *  papa  ' 
and  '  mama  '  ?  " 

"  Say,  mister,  squeeze  it  again." 

The  constable  stared  nonplussed  at  the  apparition 
which  somehow  seemed  more  of  a  mystery  than  ever, 
for  there  was  something  austere  about  Muno-Muno's 
face  that  never  moved  people  to  outright  laughter  just 
as  itself  was  never  moved  to  smiles. 

Holson  saw  his  chance  and  took  it.  "  Look  here," 
he  said  testily  to  the  officer,  "  this  is  the  Maharawek 
of  Monomopotama  and  if  he 's  bothered  again  between 
here  and  Atlantic  City  I  '11  see  that  the  British  embassy 
at  Washington  hears  of  it  and  you  '11  get  what 's  com- 
ing to  you  for  butting  into  other  people's  business." 

He  threw  in  the  clutch  and  the  car  impudently 
spurted  dust  over  the  constable  and  the  astonished  by- 
standers. "  Say,"  he  said  to  John  as  they  gathered 
way,  "  what  d'  you  think  of  that  for  one  out  of  the  box  ? 
I  'm  going  to  let  her  out  a  bit.  I  '11  bet  he 's  busy  on  the 
telephone  now  getting  us  a  clear  road." 

A  few  miles  short  of  Atlantic  City  he  turned  at  a 


2Y8  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

right  angle  and  worked  the  car  gingerly  through  two 
miles  of  a  bad  woodroad  coming  out  on  a  narrow  high- 
way of  crushed  shell,  that  meandered  through  a 
vast  area  of  salt  marshes  and  finally  emerged  into  a 
second-growth  forest.  An  hour  later  the  car  drew  up 
before  the  general  store  of  one  of  those  forgotten  vil- 
lages on  the  South  Jersey  coast  that  are  just  too  far 
away  from  transportation  to  share  in  the  harvest  of 
summer  boarders  and  summer  money.  Save  for  the 
trees  that  line  their  broad  main  street,  they  are  gray; 
gray  houses,  weather-beaten  and  stung  by  the  salt-sea 
winds,  gray  shell  roads,  gray  men,  and  gray  women 
living  on  misty  gray  incomes  from  gray  boats,  oysters, 
and  clams. 

"  We  leave  the  car  here,"  said  Holson.  "  Can  the 
Maharawek  carry  the  lunch-basket  ?  " 

The  village  ran  lengthwise  of  a  long  spit  of  sandy 
loam  that  reached  out  into  the  sea,  and  was  just  too 
short  and  too  low  to  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  promon- 
tory. On  its  south  side  lay  the  small-boat  harbor  and 
what  life  there  was  faced  that  way;  on  its  north 
stretched  sand  dunes  and  the  open  sea. 

It  'was  toward  the  ocean  that  Holson  led  the  way, 
followed  by  John,  who  in  turn  was  followed  by  Muno- 
Muno  carrying  the  large  wicker  lunch-basket  on  his 
head.  On  the  porch  of  the  general  store  an  old  man, 
apparently  the  only  living  inhabitant,  stood  pulling  at  a 
long  chin-beard  and  gazing  after  them.  Holson,  fol- 
lowing a  telephone  wire,  topped  a  dune  and  stood  still 
until  John  caught  up  to  him.  "  There  you  are,"  he 
said. 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  2Y9 

Below  them  squatted  a  lonely  little  bungalow  facing 
out  to  sea.  Except  for  the  thin  strand  of  a  single  wire 
linking  it  to  the  general  store  it  was  entirely  cut  off 
from  the  world.  "  Lonely  enough  for  you  ? "  asked 
Holson. 

John  nodded.  Together  they  walked  down  and 
around  to  the  front  of  the  house,  where  a  broad,  shady 
veranda  welcomed  them.  Holson  took  a  key  from  his 
pocket,  opened  the  front  door,  and  threw  wide  the  shut- 
tered windows,  revealing  a  simple  but  charming  in- 
terior completely  furnished  in  every  detail  but  all  man- 
tled with  the  fine  white  dust  of  blown  sand. 

"  Here  you  have  one  large  living-room  with  open 
fireplace,"  said  Holson  in  the  manner  of  a  real-estate 
agent,  "  and  on  this  side  a  summer  and  on  that  side  a 
winter  bedroom.  The  prevailing  winds  are  from  the 
southwest  in  summer  and  from  the  northwest  in  winter, 
or  if  they  are  n't  they  ought  to  be.  This  way,  sir, 
you  '11  find  the  model  kitchenette  opening  on  the  right 
into  the  suite  of  one  room  and  one  window,  which  seems 
made  to  order  for  the  Maharawek  of  What-was-it. 
From  this  window  you  can  see  the  outbuildings,  wood- 
and-coal  shed,  ice-house,  and  the  etcetera.  There  's  a 
two-by-four  porch  built  out  from  the  summer  bedroom 
which  carries  a  shower-bath.  When  you  want  to  lie 
down  and  splash,  there 's  the  whole  Atlantic." 

"  That 's  enough,"  said  John,  laughing.  "  I  '11  take 
the  place.  If  I  had  the  cash  I  'd  buy  it." 

"  Foolish  child,"  said  Holson.  "  Never  buy  a  toy 
when  you  can  rent  it  and  throw  it  back  when  the  paint 's 
worn  off." 


280  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

They  went  back  to  the  veranda  and  found  that  with 
extraordinary  rapidity  Muno-Muno  had  unpacked  the 
lunch  basket,  unearthed  a  tablecloth,  moved  out  a  small 
table,  dusted  it,  and  laid  it  for  two.  "  Aikona  flor, 
baas,"  he  said  to  John. 

"  Jiminy !  "  cried  Holson,  "  and  I  thought  he  was  a 
heathen!  What '11  you  take  for  him?  What's  he 
saying  ?  " 

John  laughed  again.  "  He 's  apologizing  because 
there  are  no  flowers." 

They  sat  down  to  lunch  in  high  spirits ;  even  the  sad 
face  of  Muno-Muno  took  on  a  sort  of  reflected  bright- 
ness as  though  something  told  him  he  was  through  with 
hotels  and  alien  fare.  As  Holson  handed  over  to  him 
an  entire  surplus  roast  chicken  and  John  said,  "  Muno- 
Muno  flca}  volto  amariha"  a  flicker  of  light,  startlingly 
expressive,  shone  in  the  black's  eyes. 

"  Did  you  see  that  ?  "  asked  Holson.  "  I  '11  swear 
you  almost  made  him  smile.  Or  was  it  the  chicken  ? 
What  were  the  mystic  words  ?  " 

"  I  just  told  him  to  stay  here  and  that  I  'd  be  back 
to-morrow,"  said  John. 

For  half  an  hour  they  sat  lazily  smoking,  and  when 
Holson  said  regretfully,  "  Time  we  were  moving," 
John  asked,  "  How  did  this  place  happen  ?  " 

"  There 's  no  mystery,"  said  Holson.  "  I  had  an 
aunt,  a  spinster,  who  was  somehow  left  behind.  What 
she  lacked  in  good  looks  she  made  up  in  brains.  She 
could  see  the  day  of  woman  coming  and  it  made  her  so 
sore  to  think  that  she  'd  been  born  a  generation  or  two 
short  of  the  golden  age  for  bachelor  maids  that  she  grew 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  281 

one  of  those  lifelong  New  England  grouches  and  delib- 
erately turned  her  back  on  the  world." 

He  jerked  his  head  toward  the  village  and  waved  his 
hand  at  the  open  sea.  "  Poor  old  girl,"  he  added  after 
a  pause.  "  She  called  this  place  The  Outlook." 

"That  won't  do  for  me,"  said  John.  "  I  '11  just 
twist  the  name  around  and  call  it  The  Lookout.'5 


CHAPTER  XXXV; 

JOHN"  and  Muno-Muno  settled  down  in  their  new 
life  so  evenly  and  so  softly  that  the  shock  of  the 
radical  change  was  almost  completely  absorbed.  Every 
week  John  would  telephone  for  supplies  to  the  general 
store  and  when  the  packages  came  Muno-Muno  would 
receive  them,  open  them,  put  them  away,  and  use  them 
in  absolute  silence. 

He  was  safari  trained  to  cook,  serve,  wash,  and  to 
steal  on  occasion  for  his  master,  never  from  him.  He 
had  but  one  rule  of  life:  to  have  everything  ready  be- 
fore it  was  asked  for.  John  knew  when  he  sat  down 
to  table  that  he  would  have  one  of  six  or  seven  well- 
cooked  dishes  but  he  never  knew  which,  and  in  that  mild 
surprise  lies  much  of  the  pleasure  of  eating. 

The  purchasers  of  the  Tot  and  Pot  stories  which, 
by  the  way,  had  been  published  under  a  woman's  name, 
were  eager  to  consider  a  new  series.  John  wrote  it, 
but  in  between  times  turned  his  pen  toward  more  seri- 
ous matters.  He  was  no  exception  to  the  writer  breed. 
From  doing  charming  old-style  fairy  tales  in  words  of 
one  syllable  he  turned  to  an  essay  on  the  sex-problem, 
a  subject  about  which  he  knew  less  from  an  American 
point  of  view  than  the  average  washerwoman.  He 
signed  it  with  his  own  name,  kept  it  for  three  weeks, 

read  it,  reread  it,  and  burned  it.     For  a  fortnight  he 

282 


JOHN   BOGARDUS-  283 

thought  hard  and  wrote  nothing;  then,  as  he  sat  one 
hazy  Indian  summer  afternoon  on  the  top  of  a  sand 
dune,  he  fell  to  dreaming  of  cities  he  had  seen.  Sud- 
denly an  inspiration  came  to  him. 

He  looked  back  intently  at  distant  scenes.  The  tur- 
moil of  harbors,  the  rattle  of  traffic,  the  blare,  the  sweat, 
and  confusion  of  present  life,  all  died  away,  and  to  his 
undistorted  vision  rose  each  city  eternally  personal,  de- 
tached ;  young,  aging,  or  old,  mostly  feminine  but  occa- 
sionally hard  and  masculine  as  the  sterile  slopes  of  An- 
tafogasta  or  the  rock  of  Aden.  Here  was  something 
he  knew,  something  he  could  do ;  lay  bare  the  hearts  of 
cities,  paint  their  aspirations,  achievements  or  death 
against  the  settings  that  God  and  man  had  given  them. 
Callao,  Melbourne,  and  Sidney,  Mozambique,  Zanzibar, 
and  Singapore.  The  words  sang  to  him,  each  a  spur  to 
memory.  To  the  essays  of  knowledge  and  love  he  be- 
gan to  write  from  that  day  he  could  sign  his  name  un- 
afraid. 

John's  new  life  was  not  entirely  monastic;  occasion- 
ally the  isolation  of  The  Lookout  palled  upon  him. 
Southward  he  could  not  walk  and  his  strolls  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  showed  him  how  skilfully  the  builder  of 
the  bungalow  had  chosen  her  ground.  Barely  three 
miles  to  the  northward  the  beach  was  broken  by  salt 
marshes  that  stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
At  such  times  John  would  give  Muno-Muno  the  free- 
dom of  the  hickory  woodpile  and  of  the  living-room  fire- 
place, hire  a  buggy  and  a  boy  to  drive  it  to  the  nearest 
railway  station,  and  make  for  the  city  where  he  would 
stay  for  the  few  days  it  took  to  readjust  and  reconcile 


284  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

him  to  his  exile.  He  went  away  eagerly;  he  always 
came  back  gladly. 

The  winter  cast  an  added  gloom  on  the  gloomy  Muno- 
Muno,  who  went  about  the  house  entirely  encased  in  the 
heaviest  woolens  John  could  buy;  but  with  the  first 
warm  breath  of  the  early  South  Jersey  spring,  peace 
began  to  return  to  his  spirit  and  he  shed  garment  after 
garment  in  rapid  succession  until  an  equatorial  day  in 
May  found  him  sitting  on  the  radiating  sands,  bare- 
headed, clothed  only  in  a  loin-cloth,  taking  all  the  pun- 
ishment the  sweating,  outraged  sun  could  give  and  ask- 
ing for  more,  almost  with  a  smile. 

On  his  excursions,  John  almost  invariably  met  Hoi- 
son  either  by  appointment  or  by  chance,  for  he  had  un- 
consciously adopted  the  haunts  of  his  friend  and  quite 
as  invariably  Holson  was  in  tentative  possession  of  a 
woman.  He  was  forever  discovering  women,  but  for- 
tunately the  feminist  curiosity  that  drove  him  usually 
ignored  types  and  fed  on  individuals.  As  a  result  his 
subjects  were  generally  interesting.  He  bore  toward 
each  in  turn  not  so  much  an  air  of  possession  as  one  of 
doubt  and  inquiry.  He  was  no  miser.  "  Come  see 
what  I  've  found,"  was  continually  in  his  eyes  if  not  on 
his  lips,  followed  by  the  inevitable  question,  "  What  do 
you  think  of  her  ?  " 

John  would  sometimes  readily  go  and  see,  sometimes 
he  would  try  to  refuse,  but  it  never  got  beyond  trying, 
for  under  his  flippant  exterior  Holson  was  hard.  He 
was  one  of  those  pleasantly  persistent  men  who  seem  to 
yield  continually  but  who  in  fact  never  surrender. 
John  found  that  he  was  not  content  merely  to  exhibit 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  285 

women ;  he  liked  to  discuss  them  as  well.  Not  nastily, 
far  from  it ;  but  as  though  he  mistrusted  his  own  judg- 
ment and  wished  to  see  them  through  others'  eyes. 

"  Holson,"    said   John   one   day,    "  why   don't   you 
marry?     You  need  it." 

Holson  stared  at  him.     "  Why  don't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
John  stared  back.     They  both  stared  gravely  at  each 
other  for  half  a  minute  and  then  Holson  broke  out, 
"D'you  really  want  me  to  tell  you?     When  are  you 
going  back  to  your  own  yard  and  sand-pile  ?  " 
"  To-morrow,  if  you  '11  run  me  down." 
"  I  will,"  said  Holson,  "  and  I  '11  stay  over  night. 
Perhaps  I  '11  stay  over  two  nights." 

At  The  Lookout  there  was  literally  nothing  to  do  but 
walk  and  think  or  walk  and  talk.  Summer  was  al- 
ready waning  and  all  Holson  or  John  could  stand  in 
the  way  of  sea-bathing  was  a  quick  plunge  in  the  morn- 
ing and  another  after  their  afternoon  walk.  In  the 
evening  they  left  the  doors  and  windows  open  but  had 
a  fine  log  fire  to  take  off  the  chill  and  to  look  at. 

"  Great  thing,  a  fire,"  said  Holson,  pensively.  "  If 
I  was  a  poet  I  would  n't  be  forever  writing,  f  Spring,  O 
Spring ! '  I  'd  write  nothing  but  open  fires  and  what 
you  see  in  'em.  Watch  it  kindle  and  smoke  as  though 
it 's  in  two  minds  which  way  it  will  go,  then  take  hold 
and  burn  with  a  gorgeous  flame,  then  glow  steadily  for 
a  long  time,  and  then  turn  gray.  Just  like  a  man,  eh  ?  " 
John  nodded.  "  But  I  don't  like  to  see  a  fire  go  out ; 
do  you  ?  "  He  called  Muno-Muno  and  told  him  to  put 
in  a  new  back  log. 

"  No,"  said  Holson.     "  I  suppose  it 's  because  we  're 


286  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

young  or  youngish.  I  'm  just  going  to  touch  thirty. 
How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Thirty-two,"  said  John. 

"  You  know  that  aunt  I  told  you  about,"  said  Holson 
after  a  pause.  "  Well,  she  was  a  wise  one,  all  right. 
When  she  said  a  thing  you  could  tell  she  'd  waited  and 
watched  a  lot  before  she  let  it  out.  One  time  she 
turned  on  me  and  said,  '  Jack,  marry  young ;  after 
thirty  a  man  marries  with  his  head  unless  he  waits  for 
his  dotage/  I  just  laughed.  A  thing  like  that  does  n't 
impress  you  at  first." 

John  frowned  into  the  fire.  "  I  wonder  if  it  '&  true," 
he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  Holson,  "  I  guess  it  used  to  be.  But 
it 's  a  darned  sight  easier  to  say  '  marry  young '  than 
it  is  to  do  it  now-a-days.  There  was  a  kid  I  used  to 
play  with  and  I  'd  have  married  her  along  with  my  col- 
lege dip.  if  she  had  n't  died  two  years  before  I  got  it. 
Even  so,  I  did  n't  think  of  her  as  having  hit  me  espe- 
cially hard  and  I  looked  forward  to  finding  some  one 
to  tie  to,  but  I  found  myself  measuring  the  candidates 
up  against  her  and  before  I  knew  it  three  years  had 
gone  over  and  the  bunch  of  fellows  that  had  mixed  mar- 
riage with  graduation  were  getting  their  divorces." 

"  Not  all  of  them,  I  hope,"  said  John,  smiling. 

"  No,"  said  Holson,  "  not  all,  but  enough  to  make 
you  think  and  think  hard.  I  tell  you  the  younger  gen- 
eration has  to  marry  with  its  head  before  it 's  thirty, 
and  from  what  I  've  seen  the  head  is  n't  up  to  the  job. 
I  've  seen  my  crowd  try  all  sorts :  city  ingenues  and 
three-season  girls,  two  or  three  choruses  and  one  leading 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  287 

lady,  and  even  the  unspoiled  country  brand.  Only  one 
of  the  last  but  it 's  a  prize  sample.  Poor  old  Mars- 
ten!" 

"  Marsten  ? "  repeated  John.  The  name  seemed 
vaguely  familiar. 

"  Sure,"  said  Holson.  "  Charlie  Marsten.  You 
did  n't  know  him.  He  was  Yale  and  one  of  the  finest 
fellows  that  ever  stepped.  Full  of  the  old  Nick,  but 
he  had  a  head  on  his  shoulders  and  came  into  lots  of 
money  he  did  n't  need.  Turned  from  the  hot-house  in- 
genues that  were  after  him  and  married  a  simple  coun- 
try maid.  Joan,  Joan  Something-or-other." 

John  started  in  his  chair  and  leaned  forward.  He 
tapped  out  his  pipe.  "  What 's  become  of  them  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  Why  have  n't  you  ever  run  me  up  against 
them?" 

"  For  the  simple  reason,"  said  Holson,  "  that  the  fair 
Joan  queens  it  in  realms  far  above  yours  and  mine, 
and  Charlie  —  Well,  no  one  sees  Charlie  for  more 
than  a  minute  at  a  time.  He  's  a  director  in  half  a 
dozen  big  things  and  in  a  dozen  small  ones.  To  look  at 
him  he  's  older  than  his  father  was  when  he  died  and 
the  last  time  I  ran  into  him  I  said,  '  Charlie,  why  don't 
you  shoot  yourself  ? '  and  smiled  so  he  could  n't  get 
huffy." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Well,"  said  Holson,  "  it  is  n't  the  sort  of  thing  to 
repeat  but  he  said,  '  Jack,  if  she  'd  only  take  time  out 
to  have  a  kid  I  'd  stand  the  racket  and  would  n't  give  a 
damn.'  " 

After  a  pause  John  said,  "  I  think  your  special  cross- 


288  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

section  of  life  has  struck  a  rotten  spot  in  the  national 
plank.  You  can't  make  me  believe  that  there  aren't 
lots  of  girls  with  simple  hearts  and  simple  ways  that  can 
love  life  just  because  they  love  some  ordinary  man. 
That  sort  of  thing  is  fundamental.  It  can't  die  out." 

"  Of  course  there  are,"  said  Holson,  "  but  the  ones 
that  are  n't  buried  are  n't  labeled ;  that 's  my  trouble. 
I  tell  you  there 's  something  the  matter  somewhere. 
I  'm  no  psychological  wizard  but  it  seems  to  me  it 's 
got  something  to  do  with  chastity,  and  when  I  say  chas- 
tity I  don't  mean  the  irreducible  minimum  that  Elise 
means  when  she  says,  '  I  'm  straight  —  honest ! ' 
after  you  Ve  kissed  her,  fondled  her  all  over,  and  dan- 
gled her  on  your  knees.  Why,  if  you  '11  believe  me,  the 
kid  I  told  you  about  would  jump  and  say  it  made 
her  burn  all  over  if  I  laid  a  finger  on  her.  She  had 
an  idea  that  her  person,  just  the  bloom  on  it,  was  as 
precious  as  sapphires  and  pigeon-blood  rubies !  As  for 
my  cross-section  of  life,  you  can't  look  around  farther 
than  you  can  see,  can  you?  However,  I  haven't 
stopped  looking.  Have  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John,  and  from  that  day  began 
to  think  of  marriage  as  a  thing  in  itself  and  not  as  the 
incidental  culmination  of  a  love  affair.  Was  it  true 
that  he  was  getting  too  old  to  marry  ?  Was  n't  life 
without  marriage  a  sort  of  premature  death  ?  Was  n't 
all  passion  vile  that  did  n't  justify  itself  by  creation  ? 
How  does  a  man  set  out  to  marry  before  it 's  too  late  ? 

He  looked  back  and  reviewed  his  own  life.  Had  he 
missed  any  chances  ?  Surely  not  in  Joan ;  Holson's  un- 
conscious news  had  proved  that.  He  thought  of  Pau- 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  289 

line  and  remembered  the  sudden  barrier  that  had  shut 
her  from  him.  He  looked  farther  and  farther  and  a 
faint  despair  seized  him,  a  sadness  born  of  thoughts  of 
the  inevitable  steps  of  the  past  that  cannot  be  retraced. 
For  days  his  spirit  was  mute ;  life  was  mute.  He  was 
too  far  away  from  it.  Here  neither  those  who  were 
saved  by  the  sins  and  the  sufferings  of  others  nor  those 
who  lifted  themselves  through  their  own  sin  and  suffer- 
ing could  touch  him.  He  grew  restless,  and  when  win- 
ter drew  near  closed  up  The  Lookout  and  taking  Muno- 
Muno  with  him  sailed  for  the  West  Indies. 

No  choice  could  have  been  more  unhappy,  for  those 
lovely  isles  are  but  a  tomb,  a  tomb  of  the  whites  that 
ruled  there  once,  then  fought  for  a  foothold,  that  finally 
were  ruled  in  turn,  and  to-day  are  but  a  crumbling 
husk  of  a  race  caught  and  devoured  like  a  tree  in  a  cruel 
parasitic  grip;  racial  conquest  at  its  worst,  victory  in 
terms  of  guinea  pigs.  It  was  a  combination  of  a  sordid 
atmosphere  and  Paradise.  John  more  than  once  was 
seized  upon  by  ignoble  desires.  He  felt  himself  abased 
and  fled  from  island  to  island  and  finally  back  to  his 
retreat,  never  so  glad  before  at  a  return. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

OI^CE  more  John's  thoughts  turned  to  introspec- 
tion. What  was  life  to  him?  Where  did  he 
stand  ?  He  could  see  that  he  had  chosen  well  in  hiding 
himself  away  at  The  Lookout.  At  least  he  had  saved 
himself  from  the  treadmill  whirl  that  held  Holson  even 
while  it  repelled  him.  He  could  look  back  now  with  a 
clearer  gaze  than  ever  before,  because  he  knew  what  he 
was  looking  for.  He  was  seeking  that  thread  in  the 
varied  strands  of  his  life  that  stood  most  for  perma- 
nency and  he  recognized  it  at  last  in  his  writing.  Here 
was  a  thing  that  was  intimately  his,  that  had  grown  as 
he  had  grown,  and  that  rightly  nurtured  might  become 
more  than  a  mere  staff  of  life,  might  grow  into  a  bul- 
wark and  a  continuing  source  of  youth. 

As  he  pondered  he  suddenly  realized  that  his  writing 
was  a  bigger  thing  to  him  than  he  had  suspected,  that  it 
lay  near  his  heart.  Heretofore  he  had  looked  upon  it 
as  a  diversion,  a  sort  of  stop-gap;  now  he  turned  def- 
initely from  dilettanteism  as  a  man  turns  from  trifles 
to  a  red  round  of  beef,  sought  his  weaknesses,  found  his 
limitations,  and  bent  his  efforts  toward  wiping  them 
out  He  was  entranced  by  the  power  of  words,  their 
power  to  evade,  but  once  seized,  to  grip  a  flower,  a 
heart,  or  a  thought,  and  hold  it  eternally  fragrant,  puls- 
ing or  ringing  on  the  printed  page. 

290 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  291 

Then  came  the  war.  It  burst  upon  him  in  one  big 
mouthful  of  news  from  the  grocery  boy.  He  could  not 
believe  it.  All  his  life  long  he  had  heard  that  this  war 
was  bound  to  happen;  all  his  life  long  he  had  heard 
that  Austria-Hungary  was  nothing  but  a  bomb  with,  its 
fuse  trailing  loose-ended  in  the  Balkans,  looking  for  a 
spark ;  all  his  life  long  he  had  said  to  himself,  "  It  won't 
happen  in  my  day.  I  '11  never  see  it."  And  now  — 
it  had  come. 

There  is  a  barbaric  streak  in  the  young  and  the  near 
young  that  always  records  a  feeling  of  elation  at  news 
of  a  catastrophe.  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  say  but  it  is 
true,  that  man  instinctively  loves  best  to  hear  of  horror. 
He  has  loved  to  hear  of  horror,  of  the  mountainous 
deaths  of  others,  for  thousands  of  years ;  it  is  only  half 
a  dozen  generations  since  he  began  to  value  the  life  of  a 
man  above  the  market  value  of  a  suckling  pig. 

But  it  was  to  no  such  primitive  source  that  John 
traced  his  sudden  exaltation.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
from  Ari  Frodi  and  Kolsegg  Asbjornsson  down  to  Cer- 
vantes, Camoens,  and  Milton,  the  monuments  of  litera- 
ture had  been  built  not  by  men  but  by  the  times  in 
which  they  lived.  It  seemed  to  him  that  great  books 
sprang  from  the  growing-pains  of  nations,  from  the  tur- 
moil of  their  ascendancy,  from  the  rumbling  echo  of 
their  downfall,  from  any  mighty  issue  that  raised  men 
above  the  dead  level  of  food  and  raiment,  that  reestab- 
lished perspective,  and  made  giants  and  heroes  of  those 
who  but  now  had  cringed  at  petty  trades. 

In  this  mood  he  went  to  the  city.  The  rest  of  The 
Lookout  had  palled  upon  him.  He  wanted  a  rest  from 


292  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

rest,  just  as  one  turns  to  beer  from  an  overdose  of  tonic. 
But  he  did  not  wish  to  plunge  into  the  city  whirl  him- 
self so  much  as  he  craved  the  distraction  of  sitting  for  a 
while  where  he  could  watch  it.  Consequently  he  was 
not  overjoyed  at  running  into  Holson  at  the  very  mo- 
ment of  entering  the  supper  room  where  he  had  engaged 
a  small  corner  table. 

There  was  a  gleam  in  Holson's  eyes  that  John  had 
seen  so  often  before  that  he  took  a  laughing  chance  shot 
with,  "  Not  to-night,  old  man.  I  've  come  up  to  town 
for  a  rest.  I  want  to  hear  people  chatter,  but  I  don't 
want  to  chatter  myself." 

"  You  've  guessed  it,"  said  Holson,  smiling. 
"  There 's  somebody  I  want  you  to  meet.  You  're 
lucky,"  he  continued  amiably,  as  with  hands  in  pockets 
he  accompanied  his  victim  toward  his  table,  "  lucky  to 
have  dropped  in  to-night." 

John  was  not  deceived  by  Holson's  smile  nor  by  the 
apparent  acquiescence  in  the  fact  that  they  were  walk- 
ing away  from  Holson's  party.  However,  he  was  not 
inclined  to  give  in  without  a  struggle.  He  sat  down 
at  his  own  table  with  an  air  of  finality,  well  acted. 
Holson  continued  standing,  smiling  and  unmoved. 

John  glanced  half  along  the  room  to  where  a  party 
of  seven  were  watching  with  amused  impatience  their 
absentee  host's  imperturbable  back.  He  realized  that 
in  a  moment  some  one  would  begin  to  look  ridiculous 
and  it  would  n't  be  Holson. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  don't  be  an  ass.  You  're  not 
short  a  man.  Clear  out." 

*'  Uncle    does  n't    count,"    said    Holson,     "  You  'v§ 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  293 

never  met  my  uncle.  We  '11  put  him  between  us. 
He  's  married,  you  know, —  up  to  the  neck.  That 's 
one  reason  why  I  want  you." 

A  woman,  one  of  the  seven,  caught  John's  eye.  A 
tiny  frown  was  just  beginning  to  pucker  her  brow.  He 
suddenly  knew  that  if  he  did  not  get  up,  and  quickly,  she 
would  walk  out  of  the  room.  He  saw  it  coming  and 
arose,  almost  with  a  motion  of  haste. 

"  Who 's-  the  lady  that 's  not  merely  dressed  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Holson's  smile  brightened.  "  That 's  the  very  one, 
the  one  I  want  you  to  meet.  Dora  Tenable,  you  know. 
Came  over  as  understudy  to  Talleck's  leading  lady  and 
fell  heir  to  the  part.  Sort  of  girl-woman.  Interest- 
ing. Everybody  's  after  her ;  nobody  gets  her." 

As  he  approached,  John  kept  his  eyes  on  Miss  Tem- 
ble.  He  saw  the  tiny  frown  clear  from  her  brow  and 
good-nature  return  to  her  face. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVII 

IT  was  a  merry  party.  By  expectation  Miss  Temble 
should  have  dominated  it,  but  to  everybody's  sur- 
prise it  was  Holson's  uncle  that  assumed  the  scepter  in 
the  end.  His  peculiar  position  between  his  nephew  and 
John  drew  the  eye  and  at  first  threatened  to  make  him 
the  butt  of  the  talk. 

"  Have  you  been  naughty  ?  "  smilingly  asked  the 
prettiest  of  the  women,  leaning  across  the  table  toward 
the  little  man.  "  You  look  as  if  you  'd  been  interned." 

"  No  war  talk,  please/'  said  Holson.  "  We  're  all 
as  tired  of  it  as  we  are  of  weather  and  for  the  same 
reason.  Any  fool  can  tell  you  the  sun 's  shining  or  it 
isn't." 

"  Not  talk  war  ?  "  said  a  man  heavily  from  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  table.  "  We  simply  must.  It 's  all 
I  've  heard  to-day." 

"  Well,  let 's  don't,"  said  the  prettiest  woman  gaily. 
"  We  '11  just  sit  and  watch  each  other  eat." 

"No,  we  won't,"  said  Holson.  "We'll  talk  mar- 
riage. Uncle  has  n't  been  naughty  but  he 's  been  mar- 
ried. What 's  more,  he 's  still  married." 

Everybody  looked  at  Holson's  uncle  in  feigned  or 
actual  commiseration,  but  he  bobbed  his  head  in  cheerful 
affirmation. 

"  Please  let  me  do  my  share  first,"  said  the  man  across 
the  table.  "  What  is  marriage,  after  all  ?  "  He  im- 

294 


JOHN    BOGARDUS  295 

mediately  subsided  and  turned  his  attention  to  soup  and 
a  dish  of  salted  almonds. 

"  Isolation,"  said  the  prettiest  woman  with  a  mis- 
chievous glance  at  Holson's  uncle. 

"  Make  it  insulation,"  said  some  one  else. 

"  Double,"  said  Holson,  more  from  the  habit  of  bridge 
than  from  wit. 

"  You  're  none  of  you  even  warm,"  said  Miss  Temble, 
watching  Holson's  unperturbed  uncle.  "  Let  me  try. 
A  voyage  on  an  inland  sea."  Her  low  voice  floated 
clearly  to  the  limits  of  the  table  but  not  beyond. 

The  uncle  gave  her  a  quick,  bright  glance.  "  Thank 
you,  my  dear,"  he  said  simply.  "  A  landlocked  sea  is 
peaceful." 

"Well,  Uncle,"  said  Holson,  "you're  the  only 
actually  married  person  in  this  charming  circle.  Hear 
us  all  and  then  play  referee.  Speak  up,  Bogardus, 
Your  turn.  What 's  marriage  ?  " 

John  fingered  an  olive  absently.  "  I  wish  to  God  I 
knew." 

"What!" 

"Traitor!" 

"  Say  it  again !  " 

"  Fact,"  said  John,  his  face  still  absent  and  puzzled 
as  though  he  were  back  alone  on  the  sands  of  The 
Lookout,  thinking  over  this  very  same  knotty  problem. 
"  If  I  only  knew,  I  'd  marry." 

"  Or  perhaps  you  would  n't." 

John  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said,  "one  isn't 
afraid  of  a  certainty.  Doubt  is  the  single  source  of 
fear." 


296  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

Miss  Temble  looked  at  him  curiously.  "That's 
true,"  she  said.  "  I  should  have  liked  to  have  said 
that." 

John  turned  half  toward  her.  He  felt  an  impulse 
to  stop  and  appraise  her,  but  he  suppressed  it.  "  Life," 
he  went  on,  "  holds  only  two  finalities :  marriage  and 
death.  They  are  the  only  things  we  can't  taste  first." 

"  Not  marriage,"  said  some  one.  "  You  're  wrong 
there.  Lots  of  people  taste  it  first." 

"  The  exception  that  proves  the  rule  is  always  over- 
worked," said  John  with  an  expression  of  distaste. 
"  You  all  know  that  in  practice  it 's  absolutely  true  that 
men  such  as  we  are  can't  go  up  to  women  such  as  are 
here  and  say,  l  Let 's  try  it  first.'  It  would  n't  be  fair. 
Parity  is  too  far  off." 

"  But  it 's  on  the  way,"  said  the  prettiest  woman. 
"  I  don't  mean  vile  freedom,  exactly,  but  that  we  '11  all 
live  more  or  less  a  la  carte  before  long." 

"  Never !  "  said  Holson's  uncle,  suddenly,  his  bright 
eyes  sweeping  the  circle  and  drawing  every  gaze  to  his 
shining  face.  "  You  've  all  had  your  say,"  he  went  on, 
"  and  you  've  made  me  referee.  Now,  listen !  " 

"  Hear !     Hear !  "  said  Holson,  under  his  breath. 

"  If  it  were  a  mere  matter  of  chivalry,"  continued  his 
uncle,  with  a  jerky  little  bow  toward  Miss  Temble,  "  I 
would  give  the  prize  to  you.  Thank  God,  marriage  is 
sometimes  a  voyage  on  a  peaceful  inland  sea.  But 
we  're  up  against  a  matter  of  fact,  not  of  chivalry. 
After  all,  you  've  every  one  given  the  same  answer.  In 
varying  terms,  you  've  all  called  marriage  a  restriction 
—  a  personal  restriction." 


JOHN    BOGAEDUS  297 

"Well,  is  n't  it?" 

"  No.     It  is  n't  a  restriction  and  it  is  n't  personal." 

There  were  cries  of  protest  from  three  different  quar- 
ters. "  Not  a  restriction  and  not  personal !  "  exclaimed 
the  prettiest  woman.  "  Why,  those  are  two  things  that 
it  just  certainly  is !  " 

"  You  're  blind,  the  lot  of  you,"  said  the  little  man. 
"  Not  blind,  exactly,  but  bandaged."  He  paused,  his 
glance  passing,  a  little  troubled,  from  face  to  face  as 
though  he  strove  to  gage  the  measure  of  reception  in  the 
minds  behind  the  eyes  that  watched  him. 

"  You  all  have  the  same  idea  of  marriage,"  he  went 
on,  "  that  it  begins  at  the  altar  and  ends  in  the  courts, 
except  in  the  rare  cases  when  you  think  it  binds  affini- 
ties. Just  think  it  out  and  you  '11  see  that  true  affini- 
ties don't  require  the  altar  any  more  than  they  do  di- 
vorce. Neither  does  marriage.  That 's  why  I  say  it 's 
impersonal.  Marriage  isn't  propped  on  individuals. 
It  stands  alone  and  looms  over  the  well-  and  the  ill- 
assorted  like  a  rock.  You  can  bruise  yourself  against  j^ 
it  but  you  can't  shake  it.  If  the  tenure  of  marriage  de-  I 
pended  on  affinities  — " 

He  broke  off  with  a  smile  and  held  out  one  pudgy 
hand  with  fingers  extended.  "  Here,  look  back  on  life 
as  you  've  seen  it  and  count  the  affinities  you  've  known 
on  the  fingers  of  my  hand." 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  John,  still  playing  with  the 
olive,  "  that  if  the  men  and  women  trooping  out  of  a 
theater  paired  off  couple  by  couple,  like  the  animals 
coming  out  of  the  ark,  the  average  success  of  marriage 
would  be  just  the  same  ? " 


v  •  w 


298  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

"  The  average  success  of  marriage,"  said  Holson's 
uncle,  "  is  a  masterly  phrase.  It  hits  the  nail  of  my 
argument  on  the  head.  Such  an  arrangement  as  you 
have  illustrated  would  be  the  death-blow  to  many  a 
personal  emotion.  It  would  rob  the  world  of  many  a 
flash  of  divine  fire.  But  the  point  is  this.  It  would  n't 
even  scratch  the  face  of  marriage." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  prettiest  woman. 

"  You  reduce  marriage  to  the  proportions  of  a  habit," 
said  some  one  else. 

"  Reduce !  "  cried  Holson's  uncle.  "  Is  there  any- 
thing stronger  than  habit  ?  But  you  're  not  going  to 
drive  me  to  a  cliche.  I  refuse  to  call  marriage  a  habit 
and  let  it  go  at  that.  Bogardus  was  much  nearer  the 
mark  when  he  classed  it  as  a  finality.  That 's  it.  An 
element.  An  absorption,  not  an  institution.  Marriage 
itself  is  unchanging,  but  the  things  we  bring  with  us  to 
it—" 

The  little  man's  eyes  wandered  from  the  faces  before 
him.  He  nodded  his  head  slowly.  "  There 's  the 
•hole  rub,"  he  went  on.  "  The  things  we  bring  with 
us  to  it.  The  garlands  of  purity,  devotion,  constancy, 
or  —  or  tinsel,  that  individually  we  lay  on  its  imme- 
morial altar — that's  what  counts.  That's  the  whole 
matter." 

He  brought  his  gaze  back  to  the  table,  glanced  quickly 
around,  and  suddenly  smiled.  "  Well,  well,"  he  said. 
"  Now  you  know,  eh  ?  Now  you  know." 

They  all  looked  at  him  with  grave  but  kindly  eyes. 
For  the  first  time  he  seemed  a  trifle  nervous,  almost 
embarrassed.  "  Jack,"  he  said  to  his  nephew,  picking 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  299 

up  his  glass  and  looking  at  it  critically,  "  I  don't  want 
this  liqueur  after  all.  There  's  a  gayer  one  that  goes 
better  with  the  candle  shades." 

"  I  know,  sir,"  said  Holson,  promptly.     *'  Mandarin." 

When  the  party  broke  up  John  felt  as  though  his 
interest  in  Holson's  uncle  had  cheated  him  out  of  Miss 
Temble.  He  turned  to  her  and  spoke  as  if  he  had  a 
grievance.  "  D'  you  know  I  've  hardly  spoken  to  you 
nor  you  to  me,  and  it 's  all  over  ?  Do  give  me  one  little 
chance.  Let  me  see  you  home." 

"  I  'm  sorry  but  it 's  impossible,"  said  Miss  Temble. 

John  felt  a  disproportionate  shock  of  disappointment. 
"  I  'm  sorry,  too,"  he  said,  his  eyes  underlining  each 
word. 

"  You  see,  I  'm  home  already,"  said  Miss  Temble,  and 
smiled. 

"  Not  really ! "  cried  John  with  a  boyish  laugh. 
"  That 's  great.  I  'm  hanging  out  here  myself." 

"  Good  night,  you  two,"  called  Holson  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand  and  disappeared,  piloting  his  little  uncle  f 
across  the  lobby. 

Miss  Temble  led  John  to  the  elevator.  "  What  floor 
are  you  on  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Fifth,"  he  answered. 

«  So  am  I." 

They  got  out  and  walked  down  the  hall  together. 
She  stopped  before  a  door  and  John  reached  out  to  throw 
it  open  for  her.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  private  sit- 
ting-room before  he  held  out  his  hand  to  say  good  night. 

Miss  Temble  brushed  past  him.  "  Come  in,"  she 
said.  He  followed  her.  After  the  slightest  hesitation, 


300  JOHN   BOGAKDTJS 

he  left  the  door  open  behind  him.  For  a  moment  he 
walked  about  not  quite  at  ease.  The  room  was  not  un- 
lovely. Unlike  most  hotel  rooms  it  had  an  air  of  con- 
tinued habitation  and  it  was  as  fragrant  as  a  garden  of 
roses.  Eoses  were  everywhere.  Even  the  open  fire- 
place, long  stranger  to  coals,  had  its  ugliness  made  beau- 
tiful by  a  mass  of  them. 

Miss  Temble  looked  from  the  open  door  to  John  and 
back  again.  "  Oh,  you  Americans !  "  she  laughed,  with 
a  lifting  of  her  shoulders.  "  You  not  only  mind  every- 
body else's  business  but  you  insist  on  their  minding 
yours." 

She  reached  out  one  slim  foot  and  started  the  door. 
A  draft  caught  it  and  it  closed  with  a  bang. 

"  Did  you  hear  it  say  damn  ?  "  she  asked. 

John  laughed. 

Before  the  fireplace  there  was  a  great  leather  couch. 

Miss  Temble  pointed  to  one  end  of  it.     "  Sit  down 

there."     She  pushed  a  small  table  to  his  elbow.     On  it 

fe  there  were  cigarettes  and  matches  and  a  silver  ash  tray 

that  was  not  of  the  hotel. 

John  held  the  cigarettes  toward  her  but  she  shook  her 
head.  "  Not  just  now,"  she  said. 

k  He  lit  one  himself  and  settled  back,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
his  hostess.  The  moment  was  propitious  for  apprais- 
ing. She  stood  with  one  crooked  elbow  on  the  mantel 
over  the  fireplace,  her  head  propped  on  her  hand.  It 
was  a  pose  but  John  felt  it  was  unconscious  and  found 
it  lovely  beyond  anything  he  had  anticipated. 

His  gaze  passed  rapidly  from  the  small  head  down  the 
line  of  beauty.  The  rounded  grace  of  her  neck,  of  her 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  301 

shoulder,  and  of  the  long  firm  arm  that  hung  at  her 
side  challenged  his  eyes  to  linger,  but  they  swept  on, 
eager  to  seize  the  whole  of  her  slim,  flowing  body  at  a 
glance.  When  his  gaze  reached  her  one  visible  foot, 
daintily  shod  in  satin,  clad  in  silk,  he  sighed  and  then, 
as  though  it  had  called  his  eyes,  raised  them  to  her  face. 

She  was  looking  directly  at  him,  her  black  eyes  wide 
open  under  the  clear,  arched  line  of  her  brows,  but  her 
face  was  a  mask.  "  How  old  am  I  ?  "  she  asked,  her 
lips  scarcely  moving. 

John  did  not  think  to  lie.  "  Twenty-four,"  he 
guessed  without  a  smile. 

Her  head  gave  a  playful  toss.  It  was  as  though  she 
flicked  the  mask  away.  Her  eyes  brimmed  over  with 
light.  A  smile  broke  the  firm  line  of  her  lips.  A  dim- 
ple burrowed  suddenly  at  the  side  of  her  chin.  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  bent  her  shoulders  toward  him. 
"  And  now  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  merry  shake  of  her  head 
that  set  the  lights  and  shadows  in  her  dark  hair  to 
dancing. 

"  Now,"  said  John,  with  a  catch  in  his  breath, 
"  you  're  a  child,  just  a  child."  His  eyes  filled  with  a 
vague,  a  puzzled  trouble. 

Miss  Temble  straightened.  Immediately  she  seemed 
to  stand  midway  between  girl-  and  womanhood. 
"  That 's  me  as  I  should  be,"  she  said  with  just  a  shade 
of  wistfulness  in  her  smile  and  in  her  voice.  "  I  am 
twenty  to-day.  Which  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

"  I  like  you  both,"  said  John,  without  a  pause.  "  I 
like  you  now.  I  like  all  of  you." 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIII 

THE  next  afternoon  John  was  having  tea  in  Miss 
Temble's  sitting-room.  A  sudden  peace  had  de- 
scended upon  him ;  the  ever-present  war  seemed  to  have 
loosed  its  grip.  He  had  forgotten  it.  He  felt  that  if 
he  could  only  sit  always  watching  Miss  Temble,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  grace  of  her  movements,  so  practised  but 
so  unstudied,  he  might  forget  it  forever.  She  was  so 
natural,  not  with  the  naturalness  of  youth  but  of  ex- 
perience, that  from  the  first  moment  he  had  been  alone 
with  her  he  had  felt  absolutely  at  ease.  He  could  im- 
agine her  abashed,  thrown  out  of  poise  by  the  merest 
slight  in  a  crowd,  but  never  anything  but  sure  and  un- 
hesitating when  alone  with  a  man. 

He  felt  her  beauty  growing  on  him  apace  but  he 
was  not  frightened.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a 
silence  broken  only  by  the  tinkle  of  tea-cups  and  the 
striking  of  a  match,  "  I  have  the  funniest  feeling  that 
soon  I  '11  be  asking  you,  begging  you,  to  marry  me  ?  " 
-  "  I  thought  you  would,"  said  Miss  Temble,  quietly, 
"  but  —  Where  's  doubt  ?  Did  that  dear  little  man 
quite  cure  you  of  wanting  to  —  to  taste  marriage  first  ?  " 

John  paid  the  tribute  of  a  smile  to  her  composure; 
then  he  said  gravely,  "  No,  I  don't  think  he  did." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Miss  Temble 
said,  "  Are  you  quite  foot-loose  ?  Quite  your  own  mas- 
ter, I  mean  ? " 

302 


303 

"  As  much  as  ever  man  was,"  said  John.  "  A  pad  of 
paper  and  a  pen  are  my  staff  of  life  and  I  live  in  a  lit- 
tle cottage  by  the  sea  on  the  edge  of  a  village  to  which 
I  am  merely  a  name.  Are  you,  too?  Foot-loosej  I 
mean." 

"  Absolutely,"  said  Miss  Temble.  "  We  closed  our 
season  here  last  night." 

There  was  another  long  pause.  Miss  Temble's  eyes 
fixed  on  John's  face  with  a  strange  intensity.  "  You 
see,"  she  continued  at  last,  "  parity  is  not  so  far  off  as 
you  thought." 

John  started  and  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  stared 
at  her.  "  What  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  said  parity  is  not  so  far  off  as  you  thought,"  an- 
swered Miss  Temble,  steadily.  "  It 's  here.  In  this 
room." 

He  turned  and  walked  up  and  down  before  her,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  Presently 
he  stopped  and  faced  her  again.  "  I  'm  thirty-three 
years  old.  I  've  lived  a  lot.  I  have  n't  been  altogether 
a  saint." 

Miss  Temble  nodded.  For  a  moment  the  old  look, 
old  in  knowledge,  came  into  her  face.  "  I  have  n't  been 
altogether  a  saint,  either,"  she  said. 

John  looked  at  her  keenly.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said, 
"  do  you  mean  by  that  all  that  I  meant  ? " 

She  threw  out  her  hands  in  an  impatient  gesture. 
"  Yes,  I  meant  —  everything." 

Suddenly  John  found  that  his  breath  was  coming 
short  and  fapt.  He  looked  at  Miss  Temble  and  saw 
that  she,  too,  was  breathing  fast.  There  was  a  rich 


304  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

glow  in  her  cheeks,  such  a  glow  as  only  dark  women  who 
never  grow  old  can  boast. 

"  Do  you  —  "Would  you  — "  he  began  and  stopped 
as  Miss  Temble  slowly  raised  her  hand.  She  said  noth- 
ing, but  it  was  as  though  she  had  told  him  aloud  to  think 
before  he  spoke. 

He  started  walking  up  and  down  again,  his  brow  puck- 
ered in  a  puzzled  frown.  His  footsteps,  muffled  by  the 
soft  carpet,  seemed  to  say,  "  Why  not,  why  not,  why 
not?" 

Love  had  passed  him  by.  What  had  he  to  lose? 
What  might  he  not  gain?  Only  now  he  realized  how 
desperately  he  had  longed  of  late  for  a  touchstone 
wherewith  he  might  test  the  mystery  of  marriage. 
Here  it  was.  It  had  come  to  his  hand. 

He  glanced  down  at  Miss  Temble.  She  was  not 
watching  him.  She  was  sitting  very  still.  When 
some  one  at  the  supper  table  had  said,  "  Lots  of  people 
taste  it  first,"  he  had  winced  at  the  vulgar  visions  the 
words  had  conjured.  Now  his  downward  glance  reas- 
sured him.  Vulgarity  and  Miss  Temble  were  beyond 
simultaneous  conception.  Her  note  was  fineness.  She 
was  fine  in  every  contour,  fine  in  the  quality  of  her  in- 
ward as  of  her  outward  person. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  lifted  her  hand  from  her 
knee,  and  held  it  lightly  between  his  own.  "  Coming 
down  to  my  little  place  will  be  like  dropping  out  of  the 
firmament  for  you,"  he  said.  "  You  can't  be  a  star  for 
the  multitude  down  there ;  you  '11  have  to  be  just  a  hu- 
man being.  Can  you  stand  it  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  something  in  her  face,  so 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  305 

near,  so  warm,  so  alive,  struck  him  as  it  had  before  with 
a  vague,  a  troubled  fear. 

"  Only,"  she  said,  "  if  you  and  I  start  from  to-day  — 
not  from  any  yesterday.  Seal  your  past  as  I  shall  seal 
mine.  Promise.  And  then — "  She  clenched  her 
hands.  "  Then  let 's  try  to  blot  yesterdays  out  of  mind. 
Shall  we  ?  Let 's  be  just  human  beings.  Why,  that 's 
just  what  I  want.  Just  to  be  a  human  being  for  a 
while,  and  play." 

There  were  depths  of  longing  beneath  the  lightness 
of  her  words  and  voice.  John  felt  the  hidden  sadness 
of  her  heart.  He  reached  out  his  hand  and  touched  her. 
"  I  promise,"  he  said. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  In  the  flash  of  an  eye  she 
was  gay.  She  whirled  across  the  floor  in  a  merry  but 
intricate  step;  then  stopped,  clapped  her  hands  and 
laughed.  "  To-morrow  ?  "  she  cried.  "  No,  nor  the 
day  after.  But  the  very  day  after  that.  Now  tell  me 
where  it  is,  how  it  is,  and  when  will  I  get  there  if  I  start 
very  early  on  the  very  day  after  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row !  "  She  caught  her  breath  and  laughed  again  and 
John  laughed  with  her.  With  the  length  of  the  room 
between  them  they  nodded  good-by. 

Two  days  later  John  met  her  at  the  nearest  station 
with  a  buggy  which  he  drove  himself  and  a  spring- 
wagon  driven  by  a  boy  for  the  luggage,  and  took  her 
to  The  Lookout.  They  left  the  buggy  at  the  grocery 
store  and  walked  the  last  quarter  mile  through  the  sand 
in  silence.  John  was  uneasy  but  from  the  moment 
Miss  Temble  reached  the  house,  flew  through  it  like  a 
playful  breeze  and  out  again  to  the  broad  veranda,  he 


306  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

caught  her  mood  and  lived  it  with  her.  She  glanced 
around  and  out  to  sea  and  her  whole  body  gave  a  rip- 
ple of  content. 

"  I  'm  just  Dora,  now,"  she  said,  sighing  with  happi- 
ness. 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  his  blood  surged  at 
the  firm  contact  of  her  body.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  the  ardor  of  a  boy.  She  nodded  and  held 
up  her  lips  to  his. 

A  moment  later  she  was  peering  over  John's  shoulder 
but  clinging  to  him.  "  What  is  that  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Why,  it 's  a  live  black  man !  " 

John  looked  around  and  followed  her  gaze.  The  de- 
jected figure  of  Muno-Muno,  stripped  to  the  waist,  was 
seated  on  a  distant  sand-dune  facing  out  to  sea.  He  had 
not  heard  them  come.  His  head  was  fallen  forward  be- 
tween drooping  shoulders  and  his  whole  pose  seemed  to 
breathe  despair. 

"  That 's  Muno-Muno,  my  servant,"  said  John. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Dora,  facing  about  but  drawing 
John's  arm  around  her.  "  What  is  it  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  John.  "  Poor  devil ! 
His  life  is  forfeit  in  his  own  country.  He  can  never 
go  back." 

"  Poor,  poor  boy,"  said  Dora,  the  tears  springing  to 
her  eyes. 

John  stared  at  Muno-Muno.  In  a  measure  he  was 
the  key  to  the  present  situation.  He  was  like  a  black 
finger  of  destiny.  Without  him  their  stage  of  isolation 
could  scarcely  have  been  set;  with  him,  all  was  made 
plain,  indicated. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THEY  had  their  supper  on  the  veranda.  Muno 
Muno,  fully  clothed,  cooked  for  them,  served 
them,  and  anticipated  all  their  wants  as  though  they  two 
were  one  and  that  one  his  familiar  master.  Not  even 
with  his  eyes  did  he  question.  Dora  could  scarcely  take 
her  gaze  from  his  face.  Never  before  had  she  seen  one 
who  bore  in  his  carriage  and  countenance  the  imprint 
of  a  single  preoccupation,  the  deep  brand  of  one  per- 
petual thought.  Even  if  John  had  not  told  her,  this 
boy's  face  would  have  said  to  her  eyes  and  to  her  heart, 
"  I  am  exiled.  I  am  exile !  " 

It  was  a  still,  a  breathless  evening,  but  with  the  ris- 
ing moon  there  sprang  up  a  breeze  that  flapped  the 
fringes  of  the  veranda  awning  and  made  them  call  and 
beckon  impatiently  to  the  two  sitting  within,  "  Come 
out !  Come  out !  " 

John  rose.     "  Let 's  walk  on  the  sands." 

Dora  glanced  down  at  her  satin  slippers.  "  Wait  a 
minute,"  she  said,  and  ran  to  her  room. 

Five  minutes  passed  before  John  felt  her  presence 
in  the  doorway.  He  turned  and  started  as  though  a 
stranger  had  suddenly  come  upon  him.  Dora  had 
changed  from  her  frock  into  a  short  skirt,  a  very  short 
skirt.  With  it  she  wore  a  cherry  colored  blouse,  open 
at  the  throat.  She  had  changed  her  slippers  for  shoes 
and  had  let  her  hair  tumble  down  just  any  way  and 

307 


308  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

tied  it  at  the  back  of  her  neck  with  a  great  black  bow. 
Her  eyes  were  sparkling  with  a  mixture  of  fun  and 
elfish  shyness.  Her  moist  lips  were  half  parted  and  her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  as  if  she  were  panting  a  little  from 
her  haste. 

John  felt  a  lump  rise  in  his  throat.  He  strode  for- 
ward, caught  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  buried  his  face 
in  them.  "  My  dear,"  he  said,  "my  dear."  His  lips 
trembled  so  that  the  words  were  barely  audible. 

Dora  gently  freed  one  hand  and  laid  it  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Come  on,  boy,"  she  said. 

To  John  and  Dora,  thrown  absolutely  upon  their  own 
resources,  a  concentration  of  life  was  possible  beyond  all 
relation  to  time.  In  a  week  they  lived  through  all  the 
sensations  of  a  normal  year.  They  played  the  whole 
gamut  of  erotic  emotion  as  though  they  were  racing  the 
days  to  their  world's  end. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Never  so  happy  in  all  of  life." 

Question  and  answer  were  too  often  on  their  lips  and, 
asked  and  answered,  left  them  chilled  —  frightened,  as 
though,  sitting  but  now  in  sunshine,  they  awaked  to  find 
themselves  under  a  dark  shadow. 

They  thought  that  they  were  testing  marriage,  but  the 
fevered  existence  that  they  lived  was  as  little  like  mar- 
riage as  a  concentrated  essence  is  like  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  in  a  field.  Life  pays  sometimes  in  years  and 
lometimes  in  moments.  It  was  paying  in  moments  now, 
—  moments  that  lifted  them  on  the  wings  of  the  morn- 
ing to  the  heights  where  the  heart  soars  never  alone  only 
to  plunge  them  thence  in  dizzying  downward  swoops 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  309 

into  the  black  vale  of  regret  for  the  things  that  had 
been.     And  yet  they  dreamed. 
"  My  Dora." 

"  My  boy." 

There  were  things  that  John  learned,  a  thousand 
things  that  he  learned.  A  night  came  when  they  sat  in 
the  dark  on  a  couch  on  the  veranda  and  he  held  her  in 
his  arms.  She  lay  across  his  knees,  her  head  pillowed  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm.  "  Won't  you  get  tired  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Tell  me  when  you  get  tired." 

He  laughed.  "I  could  hold  you  like  this  till  the 
morning." 

Silence  fell  on  them,  a  long,  long  silence;  then  sud- 
denly, she  gasped,  "  Darling,  I  'm  c-crying !  " 

He  lifted  her  face  to  his  lips.  Her  cheeks  were  wet, 
flooded  with  tears.  A  lump  was  in  his  throat.  "  Dora ! 
Oh,  Dora !  Don't  cry !  " 

"  But  I  vf-want  to  cry !  " 

And  so  he  learned  that  there  are  recurrent  days  when 
all  a  woman  asks  of  life  are  tears  and  the  nursing  of 
loving  arms,  days  that  brand  her  eternally  feminine  and 
demand  love  and  the  passionless  caress  as  simply  and  as 
desperately  as  ever  babe  clutched  at  its  mother's  breast. 
At  such  moments  of  absolute  intimacy  there  was  for 
them  no  past  and  no  future,  only  the  present  and  peace 
and  a  great  content.  Surely  they  two  were  indivisible, 
inseparable,  veritably  one ! 

However  sublime  a  moment,  in  time  it  is  but  a  fco- 
ment  still,  subject  as  the  most  throbbing  life  to  the  chop- 
ping shears  that  are  our  common  lot.  John  drank  liis 
brimming  cup  of  exaltation  as  fast  as  it  would  fill  but 


310  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

ever  found  it  shallow.  His  glorious  moments  were 
strung  like  pearls  upon  a  string;  between  each  two  a 
shadow,  a  chasm.  More  than  once  it  was  on  his  lips  to 
ask  Dora  to  unseal  the  past,  but  he  knew  that  to-day, 
now,  there  were  things  she  dared  not  tell  because  he 
dared  not  hear. 

He  could  make  himself  dumb  to  their  covenant  of 
silence,  but  not  blind ;  so,  even  while  he  nursed  her  with 
infinite  tenderness,  visions  of  the  things  untold  came 
like  the  chopping  shears  and  filled  him  with  poignant 
rage  for  the  long  road  without  returning  that  she  had 
traveled  before  she  reached  the  haven  of  his  arms. 

"  Haven,  yes,  haven !  "  cried  his  aching  heart  but  his 
head  answered  pitilessly,  "  Port  of  call !  "  For  it  is  in 
the  power  of  no  woman  who  has  used  the  hearts  of  many 
men  as  ports  of  call  to  quite  lock  her  past  from  sight. 
She  may  never  speak  of  it,  never  even  think  of  it,  she 
may  deceive  the  multitude  all  the  time  and  herself  part 
of  the  time,  but  sooner  or  later  the  slip  comes  when  an 
understanding  ear  is  by ;  some  phrase,  some  single  word, 
standing  out  from  all  other  words  to  the  knowing  hearer 
because  it  is  a  branding  shibboleth  that  not  only  pins 
the  speaker  to  the  tarnished  world  but  illumines  the 
very  path,  high  or  low,  in  which  she  once  walked. 

Once  Dora  used  such  a  word,  playfully,  laughingly, 
as  it  had  been  used  to  her,  and  John's  whole  body  stiff- 
ened. "  Why,"  she  cried,  looking  at  his  face  gone  sud- 
denly white  and  set,  "  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

He  gripped  himself  and  said  earnestly,  "  Darling, 
never  use  that  word  again." 

"  Why  ? "    she    demanded,    amazed,    still    laughing. 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  311 

Then  she  traced  the  little  word,  so  innocent  in  itself, 
back  and  back  until  suddenly  it  was  her  face  that  went 
white  and  set.  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  rapidly  and  she 
gasped,  "  I  am  so  young,  so  ignorant  and  you  —  you 
hidden  away  here  in  your  land's  end  of  a  little  house, 
you  know  so  much.  Oh,  you  have  frightened  me,"  and 
she  began  to  cry  as  he  had  never  seen  her  cry  before, 
deep  sobs  that  tore  up  from  her  heart  and  aged  her  face. 

In  such  moments  of  absolute  distress  love  can  forget 
any  sin  however  heinous,  and  John  loved  Dora ;  not  with 
the  fringe  of  his  senses,  as  he  had  loved  Joan,  not  with 
the  adoration  and  the  awe  with  which  his  whole  being 
had  bowed  down  before  Pauline,  but  with  his  heart,  just 
with  his  heart.  So  he  quickly  banished  his  own  hurt, 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  nursed  her,  talked  to  her  as  he 
would  to  a  child  and  she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  her  face 
against  his  breast. 

In  the  long  still  hour  that  followed  a  new  fear  was 
born  to  John.  Twice,  thrice,  he  had  felt  it  vaguely, 
tried  to  seize  it  and  failed.  Now,  in  this  hour  of  si- 
lence, it  appeared  before  him;  at  first,  mistily  as  a 
wandering  wraith,  then  clearer  and  nearer  until  his  eyes 
fastened  and  fixed  as  on  some  sinister  apparition.  Yes, 
this  was  the  thing  that  had  been  hanging  on  the  outskirts 
of  his  mind.  To  just  such  a  child-woman  might  Janice 
have  grown  in  a  buffeting  world. 

At  the  thought  he  felt  no  elation,  only  horror.  That 
such  a  thing  might  be  seemed  to  him  so  horrible  that  he 
attributed  the  very  thought  of  it  to  a  fevered  brain. 
His  brain  was  playing  him  tricks.  He  had  been  think- 
ing too  much,  too  morbidly,  of  Dora's  past.  And  yet  — 


312  JOHN   BOGAEDUS 

Just  so  old  and  young  might  Janice  be,  just  so  dark 
of  hair  and  eyes  and  brows,  just  so  might  her  gaiety  be 
tinged  with  sorrow,  wistfulness,  and  irremediable  pain. 
As  for  her  name,  how  many  women  attaining  the  stage 
by  the  via  dolorosa  ever  clung  to  the  names  of  their 
innocence  ? 

The  new  doubt  seized  on  him,  grew  into  a  great  fear. 
What  was  it  he  had  said,  the  first  thing  he  had  said  to 
draw  Dora's  eyes  and  thoughts  upon  him  ?  "  Doubt  is 
the  single  source  of  fear."  And  she  had  said  that  it 
was  true,  he  had  thought  it  was  true,  yet  here  was  a 
fear  that  was  greater  than  doubt. 

It  would  be  so  easy  to  dispel  doubt  and  so  sensible. 
He  could  ask  her  to  break  their  covenant,  just  to  tell 
him  the  meaningless  skeleton  of  her  life,  where  she  was 
born,  where  she  had  lived,  were  her  people  alive  ?  She 
might  refuse,  for  she  had  been  steadfast  to  that  cove- 
nant. There  was  a  hardness  in  her,  a  hardness  gained 
of  life,  that  told  him  she  could  be  firm  as  rock  and  a 
shrewdness,  too  —  a  shrewdness  that  would  jeer  at  any 
clumsy  trap. 

She  might  refuse.  But  what  if  she  did  ?  Could  he 
not  await  some  still  moment  when  her  thoughts  were 
far  away  and  then  say,  "  Janice !  Janice !  " 

He  shivered  and  Dora  awoke.  For  a  second  her  eyes 
were  dazed  as  though  she  had  quite  forgotten  where  she 
was;  then  she  smiled,  lifted  her  bare  arms  slowly 
around  his  neck,  drew  him  down,  kissed  him  on  the 
mouth. 

"  Ah,  no !  "  cried  his  heart.  "  Cling  to  doubt !  It 's 
such  a  silly  doubt,  but  cling  to  it." 


CHAPTEE  XL 

SHADOWS  and  darkness  cannot  fill  all  of  life  nor 
even  dim  the  present  happy  moment.  There  were 
whole  days  when  John  and  Dora  were  rocked  to  a 
dreamy  sleep  in  the  arms  of  an  absolute  content.  For- 
gotten was  the  war,  forgotten  the  whole  world.  Muno- 
Muno  was  forbidden  to  use  the  papers  to  light  the  fire. 
They  were  set  neatly  in  a  corner  in  a  pile  that  grew  and 
grew.  Gray  and  sullen  it  looked,  like  some  bit  of 
creeping  masonry  crawling  upward  toward  its  own  day. 
It  stood  in  the  house  of  folly  like  an  emblem  of  aban- 
doned sanity. 

The  course  of  love  itself  was  not  all  even.  Dora  and 
John  quarreled  more  than  once,  sometimes  prettily, 
purposely,  but  sometimes  desperately,  with  an  earnest- 
ness that  sank  deep  and  left  a  wound.  These  graver 
tiffs  had  but  a  single  source ;  they  arose  invariably  with 
Dora  from  some  imagined  or  careless  slight  on  the  part 
of  John.  Did  he  so  much  as  hesitate  in  rushing  to  pick 
up  her  handkerchief,  move  her  chair,  or  hold  her  jacket, 
anger  would  flame  in  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  would  grow 
hard  and  she  would  say,  "  Tired  of  me  ?  Say  so  if  you 
like,  for  I  got  there  first.  I  'm  sick  of  you.  It 's  time 
I  went  and  I  'm  going." 

At  first  he  believed  her  and  his  belief  threw  him  into 
a  panic.  He  could  not  understand  that  her  defense  was 

313 


314  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

as  old  as  unhallowed  love,  the  quick  rush  to  arms  of  a 
woman  who  seeks  to  save  herself  from  the  shame  of 
desertion  by  a  lover.  His  panic  always  brought  her 
back  to  good-humor  quicker  than  any  words  could  have 
done,  but  when  he  came  to  reason  out  the  fear  behind 
her  sudden  rages,  he  could  not  feel  nor  feign  alarm  and 
then  he  could  only  calm  her  by  long  and  passionate  pro- 
test. 

Even  so,  their  weeks  together  were  a  time  of  glory. 
They  were  like  a  breathless  journey  through  mountain- 
ous country.  There  were  storm-clouds  and  gashes  of 
lightning  and  there  were  dark  valleys;  but  then,  too, 
there  were  sunshine  and  the  high,  windswept  peaks  that 
limit  the  range  of  man's  emotion.  For  these,  regret 
could  never  be. 

Some  women  of  charm  grip  by  a  single  magnetism,  a 
predominating  force  that  dwarfs  and  hides  its  accom- 
panying faults,  but  Dora  gripped  and  held  a  heart  by 
her  diversity.  To  see  her  in  the  evening  rigged  out 
through  caprice  in  some  diaphanous  and  exquisite  gown 
was  to  see  a  goddess  of  Mammon  straying  through 
pastoral  scenes,  but  to  see  her  short-skirted,  slim-legged, 
her  hair  loose  about  her  little  head  and  upon  her 
shoulders,  seized  at  the  back  of  the  neck  by  a  big  black 
bow,  her  eyes  dancing  with  fun,  was  to  see  Naiad  desert- 
ing brooks,  fountains,  lakes,  and  wells  to  haunt  forever 
the  two  pools  of  a  man's  eyes. 

To  hear  her  strike  a  single  keynote  on  the  piano  and 
then  pour  out  her  unaided  voice  in  a  veritable  whirl  of 
mounting  song  made  one  dream  of  open  country  and  a 
climbing  lark,  but  to  lie  with  one's  head  in  her  lap,  look 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  315 

up,  and  see  her  crouching  forward,  her  brow  puckered 
in  a  terrible  frown,  and  hear  her  chant  in  a  hoarse  voice 
the  sanguinary  words  of  what  she  called  "  The  Cockney 
Lullaby,"  was  to  try  desperately  to  hold  one's  laughter 
and  suddenly  burst  in  the  attempt. 

John  never  heard  the  end  of  that  old,  old  ballad  and 
never  knew  its  proper  name,  but  as  long  as  he  was  to 
live  the  memory  of  its  first  verse  as  sung  by  Dora  was 
but  another  name  for  laughter  hanging  on  the  verge  of 
tears. 

"  My  nime  it  is  Sam  'All,  chimbley  sweep, 
My  nime  it  is  Sam  'All,  chimbley  sweep, 
My  nime  it  is  Sam  'All; 
An'  I  've  robbed  both  great  an'  small 
An'  said  to  one  an'  all, 
DAMN  YOUB  EYES  !  " 

Had  John  been  less  of  a  man  than  he  was,  had  he 
even  been  virgin  soil  to  woman,  Dora  would  have  held 
him  body  and  soul  and  they  would  have  rushed  together 
down  the  old  road  to  utter  satiety  and  ruin.  But  he 
was  too  broad,  too  many-sided  for  such  a  fate.  He 
lived  in  fever  but  not  in  delirium.  Even  at  the  height 
of  their  folly  his  head  was  clear  enough  to  make  his 
spirit  fight  for  a  higher  level.  There  was  something 
within  him  steadily  calling,  telling  him  that  no  great 
world  is  ever  bounded  by  the  circle  of  a  woman's  arms. 

"  Dora,"  he  said  one  morning  with  sudden  decision, 
"  I  've  got  to  work." 

She  stared  at  him. 

"  Come  over  here,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  going  to  fix  you 
and  you  're  going  to  read.  That 's  a  good  girl." 

He  made  her  comfortable  on  a  couch  in  a  corner  of 


316  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

the  room  with  many  pillows  at  her  back  and  a  book  in 
her  hands.  She  pouted  her  lips  at  him  and  he  kissed 
them ;  then  he  went  to  his  writing  table,  laid  out  all  his 
paraphernalia,  an  ash  tray,  pipes,  a  tobacco  pouch, 
sponge-cup  and  sponge,  a  dictionary  because  he  was  a 
miserable  speller,  matches,  a  fountain  pen,  and  a  beauti- 
fully white  and  alarmingly  blank  pad  of  paper.  Before 
this  array  he  sat  down,  frowned,  looked  at  Dora,  and 
puffed  up  a  vast  cloud  of  smoke  to  hide  her  from  his 
sight. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  smoke  a  pipe,  dear,"  she  said 
without  raising  her  eyes  from  her  book.  "  It  makes 
your  mustache  smell  so." 

John  laid  his  pipe  aside,  got  out  a  box  of  cigarettes, 
and  lit  one.  Immediately  the  color  rose  in  Dora's 
cheeks.  "  Are  n't  you  forgetting  me,  dear  ?  "  she  asked 
in  her  hardest  voice. 

John  sprang  up,  crossed  the  room,  and  picked  up  a 
cigarette  from  a  pile  at  her  elbow.  He  held  it  to  her 
lips  and  lit  it  for  her.  He  was  trembling  with  exaspera- 
tion but  he  managed  to  grin  down  into  her  face. 

He  went  back  to  his  table  and  sat  down.  There  was 
a  long  silence.  He  tried  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  blank 
paper  before  him  but  could  not.  He  glanced  at  Dora. 
She  had  hidden  her  face  completely  behind  her  open 
book,  but  the  book  was  moving.  Slowly,  slowly,  it  de- 
scended. The  loose  waves  of  Dora's  hair  appeared,  then 
her  smooth,  white  brow,  then  her  straight  dark  brows, 
and  then  her  big  black  eyes. 

The  book  stopped  in  its  downward  course.  John 
stared  at  those  big  eyes  and  they  stared  back.  The 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  317 

book  started  again,  very  slowly.  Dora's  adorable  nose 
came  into  view,  quivering  just  the  tiniest  bit  at  the 
nostrils.  Then  appeared  her  mouth.  Her  lips  were 
puckered  in  a  pout.  It  was  the  signal  for  a  kiss. 

John  got  up  with  a  laugh.  "  You  little  devil,"  he 
said.  "  How  did  you  know  I  'd  be  watching  ?  " 

He  kissed  her  and  went  back  to  his  seat.  The  silence 
was  longer  this  time,  much  longer.  He  was  just  begin- 
ning to  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  the  dire  need  of  con- 
centration in  general  when  a  small  voice  came  from  the 
far  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Kiss  Dora." 

He  paid  no  heed.  The  voice  came  again,  soft,  cooing 
as  any  suckling  dove,  "  Kiss  Dora." 

John  coughed  and  struck  a  match  without  looking  up. 
Suddenly  Dora  sprang  to  her  feet,  slammed  the  book 
on  the  floor,  stamped  her  foot,  and  yelled  with  a  shout 
that  made  the  welkin  ring,  "  KISS  DORA  !  " 

John  rose  and  moved  toward  her  slowly.  He  gripped 
her  arms  suddenly  against  her  sides,  tripped  and  threw 
her  on  the  couch,  kissed  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  nose, 
neck,  and  ears,  and  then  her  mouth,  until  she  gasped  and 
choked  for  breath.  Even  then  he  did  not  stop ;  he  only 
paused.  When  at  last  she  struggled  free,  tore  herself 
away  from  him,  and  got  to  her  feet,  her  lungs  were 
pumping  violently  and  she  was  as  dishevelled  as  though 
she  had  been  all  but  drowned  in  a  raging  sea. 

"Come  on,"  said  John,  laughing  and  panting. 
"  Just  a  dozen  more." 

Dora  clutched  her  breast  with  both  hands  and  laughed 
back ;  then  calmly,  as  though  she  felt  the  need  of  a  little 


318  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

exercise,  she  began  to  dance.  Her  vitality  was  enor- 
mous; it  was  her  most  constant  source  of  surprise. 
John  sat  up  and  watched  her  with  an  admiration  that 
was  unfailing. 

Her  face  was  as  solemn  as  a  mask.  She  did  a  rapid 
and  intricate  pas  seul,  and  then  suddenly  stopped,  erect, 
poised  on  one  foot.  Her  hands  went  up  in  a  Greek  ges- 
ture parallel  with  her  head.  Her  free  knee  crooked, 
straightened,  her  leg  shot  out  in  a  black  streak,  and  she 
kicked  John's  writing  table  upside  down. 

Then  her  face  broke  into  the  fixed  smile  of  Adelina 
Genee  picking  up  scattered  flowers  in  "  The  Dryad." 
She  picked  up  a  cigarette,  danced  under  it,  smiled  up  at 
it,  let  it  flutter  to  the  floor.  She  picked  up  the  cracked 
glass  sponge-cup,  danced  under  it,  smiled  up  at  it,  and 
let  that,  too,  flutter  to  the  floor.  John  laughed  until  his 
sides  ached.  Dora  reeled  toward  him  and  fell  into  his 
arms  in  a  magnificent  stage  faint. 

From  that  hour  he  abandoned  all  thought  of  work 
while  Dora  was  around  and  began  tricking  her  into 
going  to  bed  early.  It  was  easy  to  do  because  when 
people  are  well  they  sleep  well  and  Dora,  made  free  of 
time  and  the  sea  and  sands,  was  very  well  indeed,  and  a 
very  sleepy  little  person  if  one  let  her  alone  and  kept 
still  for  ten  minutes  at  a  stretch  after  dinner. 

When  he  had  tucked  her  in,  kissed  her  good  night  and 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  holding  her  hand  until  she 
had  cuddled  herself  to  sleep,  John  would  steal  out  to  his 
work  with  no  fear  of  waking  her,  for  during  those  first 
hours  of  the  night  she  slept  heavily,  like  a  little  child. 

Even  so,  she  came  to  him  at  times  in  spirit,  laid  her 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  319 

small  detaining  hand  on  his  shoulder,  her  warm  cheek 
against  his  face.  At  such  moments  he  would  stare  be- 
fore him,  forgotten  the  pen  in  his  hand  and  the  blank 
paper  beckoning  him  to  the  wider  world. 

What  was  the  use,  after  all  ?  Why  deceive  himself  ? 
Dora  and  he  were  not  one,  they  were  not  becoming  one. 
Only  with  her  beside  him  in  spirit  as  in  flesh  could  he 
cling  to  his  wider  world  yet  he  felt  that  each  day  was 
straining  more  and  more  the  hold  he  had  upon  her. 
They  walked  amid  the  pageantry  of  love  not  hand  in 
hand,  but  each  holding  the  cold  hand  of  the  past  that 
stood  between  them.  The  past  and  what  else  ?  Doubt 
and  fear.  He  drew  near  to  a  desperate  resolve.  What 
were  they  doing?  Burning  all  the  candles  of  all  their 
days  at  once.  It  was  not  worth  it.  He  would  put  life 
on  clean  plates,  seize  their  past  however  ugly,  drag  it 
into  the  light  of  day,  link  it;  weld  it  to  to-day.  The 
blood  throbbed  in  his  eardrums.  It  seemed  to  him  a 
voice  whispering.  "  Say  l  Janice.'  Call  her  Janice." 


CHAPTEK  XLI 

IN  her  haste  at  leaving  New  York,  Dora  had 
neglected  a  matter  of  business.  Almost  from  the 
day  of  her  arrival  at  The  Lookout  letters  had  been  com- 
ing, demanding  her  presence.  She  had  opened  the  first. 
One  morning  John  picked  up  the  accumulation  of  un- 
opened missives  and  shuffled  them  absently. 

Dora's  eyes  fastened  on  his  face.  "  Open  them,"  she 
commanded. 

He  did  and  read  them  in  chronological  order.  At 
the  crescendo  of  appeal,  remonstrance,  insistence,  exas- 
peration, and  rage  that  the  letters  disclosed  Dora  could 
not  help  but  laugh  and  John  laughed  with  her. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  suppose  I  'd  better 
go."  She  rose  and  started  toward  her  room. 

Something  in  her  tone  alarmed  John.  He  walked 
swiftly  toward  her,  seized  her  arms  and  turned  her 
around.  He  was  not  gentle  with  her.  That  was  the 
satisfying  thing  about  Dora.  She  was  so  healthy,  so 
strong,  that  when  one  touched  her  one  felt  that  she  was 
supremely  virile,  unbreakable. 

"  Promise  you  '11  come  back,"  said  John,  his  eyes 
glowing  and  insistent. 

For  a  moment  she  studied  his  face  intently ;  then  her 
own  softened.  "  I  '11  come  back,"  she  said  gently  as  she 

released  herself. 

320 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  321 

John  let  her  go.  In  the  short  time  that  he  had  known 
her  he  had  learned  one  thing :  that  she  was  one  of  those 
rare  women  who  never  look  back.  She  came  delib- 
erately to  a  decision ;  she  held  to  it  steadfastly. 

As  he  saw  her  off  at  the  station  he  was  conscious  of  a 
feeling  of  elation.  He  was  free,  free  to  work,  to  live 
his  own  life.  He  looked  forward  to  an  orgy  of  old 
clothes,  pipe  tobacco,  and  inky  fingers.  But  even  before 
he  reached  The  Lookout  he  felt  a  depression,  a  premo- 
nition that  Dora's  spell  was  still  upon  him  and  that  the 
charms  at  his  disposal  were  too  weak  to  quite  break  her 
thrall. 

Once  back  in  the  house,  he  changed  into  his  most 
ragged  clothes,  laid  out  his  writing  things,  and  lit  his 
most  disreputable  pipe ;  but  he  could  not  settle  down  to 
work.  He  wandered  about  restlessly  and  in  despera- 
tion picked  up  the  top  paper  on  the  pile  that  had  grown 
and  grown  through  the  weeks  during  which  his  whole 
world  had  been  bounded  by  the  circle  of  a  woman's 
arms. 

He  stared  at  the  headlines  with  unbelieving  eyes.  In 
those  few  days  of  his  oblivion  the  wide  world  had  taken 
such  a  precipitous  leap  as  defied  immediate  comprehen- 
sion. He  felt  stunned  as  though  he  walked  in  a  dream, 
as  though  he  waked  to  find  the  daily  press  given  over 
to  crude  and  melodramatic  fiction.  He  picked  up  one 
paper  after  another,  scanned  the  headlines,  and  plunged 
deeper  in  the  pile  to  find  the  threads  to  the  sudden, 
chaos. 

With  papers  heaped  about  him  he  threw  himself  on 
the  couch  and  began  to  read.  He  had  found  the  greater 


322  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

charm.  Dora  was  forgotten.  Muno-Muno  came  in 
with  lunch.  John  glanced  up,  surprised  that  hours  had 
passed.  He  waved  the  food  away. 

All  day  long  and  far  into  the  night  he  read  and  read, 
steeping  himself  in  the  atmosphere  of  cataclysm  that 
was  already  becoming  an  old  story  to  the  outside  world. 
He  went  back  to  only  a  month  ago  when  people  had  been 
talking  of  a  three  weeks'  war.  He  remembered  that 
even  then  Holson  had  barred  war  talk  because  it  bored 
him ;  and  in  that  short  time  war  had  become  more  than 
hell;  it  had  become  horror. 

At  last  he  had  finished  reading.  He  got  up,  ate  his 
dinner  long  since  gone  cold,  and  went  out  on  the  sands. 
It  was  a  clear,  star-spangled  night.  The  first  chill  of 
autumn  was  in  the  air  and  a  vast  stillness.  Not  a  cloud 
broke  the  deep  bowl  of  heaven.  But  standing  there  hat- 
less  beneath  the  cold,  clear  stars,  John  felt  himself 
under  a  shadow.  A  cloud  hung  heavy  over  his  beloved 
Europe.  It  darkened  the  faces  of  countries  he  had 
loved  and  beneath  its  creeping  shadow  still  darker  blots 
were  spreading  in  vast  bloodstains  on  the  face  of  the 
once  peaceful  earth. 

A  mocking  voice  spoke  to  his  memory.  "  Humanism, 
a  life  force  and  an  atmosphere,  the  only  atmosphere 
which  you  and  I  can  breathe  with  any  comfort  to  the 
soul.  .  .  .  The  age  when  we  are  trying  to  look  at  God 
through  man  as  opposed  to  the  epoch  when  we  looked  at 
man  through  a  far-away  God." 

John's  lips  twitched  and  then  straightened  to  a 
thought  broader  than  any  mockery.  The  thought  was 
not  immediately  clear  in  his  mind.  It  gleamed  afar ;  he 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  323 

saw  it  as  through  a  mist.  It  was  at  once  a  guide  and  a 
goal.  Was  this  war  a  mocking  eclipse  or  was  it  a  revela- 
tion? 

During  the  two  days  that  followed  he  lived  in  a  sort 
of  animal  suspension.  He  almost  forgot  to  eat,  to 
dress,  to  sleep ;  his  body  seemed  to  lose  memory  of  every- 
day needs  and  left  his  mind  untrammeled,  free  to  rise 
and  soar  on  a  plane  that  concentrated  below  him  not 
only  all  that  he  himself  had  been,  felt,  or  seen  but  also 
those  worlds  of  thought,  conquered  by  others,  that  form 
the  great  subconscious  growth  of  each  newest  generation. 

With  this  newly  acquired  sight  he  saw  humanism 
stripped  of  all  vain  garnishings,  brotherhood  not  as  a 
sectarian  creed  but  as  an  idea,  a  saving  force  that  had 
slipped  into  the  world  of  men  with  the  Renaissance  and 
had  crept  toward  dawn  through  five  centuries  in  the  slow 
birth  of  things  that  live  long. 

He  traced  the  course  of  light  from  its  rebirth  through 
the  channels  of  individual  men  and  bruised  his  spirit 
against  the  basic  truth  that  all  knowledge,  all  realiza- 
tion, all  philosophy,  religion  itself  and  its  expression, 
are  eternally  fractional.  Many  a  man  had  stood  and 
written  at  least  for  a  moment  in  the  gleam  of  that  light, 
but  to  all  who  had  tried  to  write  finis  to  the  rounded 
chapter  had  come  the  round  sum  of  failure.  To  all 
but  One. 

All  his  desultory  reading  of  modern  philosophies 
suddenly  crystallized  into  a  chain  of  gleaming  stones, 
each  distinct,  easily  compassed.  He  held  them  in  his 
hand  as  though  they  were  a  breviary.  Here  was  Hegel, 
binding  himself  in  a  cocoon  of  the  triadic  law  and  abso- 


324  JOHN    BOGAEDUS 

lute  idealism,  bloodless  as  is  anything  ultimate,  confess- 
ing at  the  last  that  his  religion  had  but  one  defect,  that 
it  was  made  for  a  single  man  and  that  man  himself. 
And  here,  Spencer,  glimpsing  day  for  a  moment  and 
groping  forever  after  through  innumerable  and  inter- 
minable speculations. 

Marx  took  his  turn  in  the  glistening  breviary,  denying 
finality  as  though  enlightened  by  a  single  divine  spark 
and  plunging  on  thenceforth  to  a  monster  contradiction. 
Last  of  all  came  Comte  on  whose  eyes  had  broken  the 
clearest  vision  only  to  be  dimmed  by  the  blurred 
medium  through  which  it  passed  and  besmirched  for  all 
time  by  the  dogmatic  puerilities  of  his  waking  moments. 
To  all  of  these  men  had  come  a  glimpse  of  the  warm 
flame  of  truth,  yet  the  world  had  seen  each  in  turn  pass, 
bearing  a  dead  torch.  Their  level  tide  of  cold  reasoning 
shone  here  and  there  with  high  lights,  illumined  as 
through  a  fog  by  the  single  light  of  a  towering  Christ. 

"  Not  a  finality,"  said  John  to  himself,  "  but  at  least 
an  enduring  goal." 

He  sought  the  secret  of  that  continuing  light  and 
found  it.  None  of  the  men  he  had  passed  in  review  had 
bled.  With  his  mind  abnormally  quickened  to  the  vis- 
ualization of  the  dripping  agony  of  the  Europe  he  had 
known  and  loved,  so  long,  so  well,  he  saw  Christ  and  the 
Eedemption  itself  as  a  mighty  illumination,  a  symbol 
of  this  day  when  ten  million  common  men,  blind  or 
conscious,  wore  a  crown  of  swords  and  died  that  men 
might  see.  He  sat  down  and  as  though  in  a  trance 
wrote  the  first  of  his  essays  on  The  New  Crucifixion. 


CHAPTEE  XLII 

THE  next  day  John  reread  what  he  had  written 
and  sat  dazed  by  the  reaches  of  his  own  sub- 
conscious self,  by  the  altitudes  to  which  his  fevered 
brain  had  swept,  and  which,  in  the  calm  light  of  a  morn- 
ing so  like  a  thousand  other  mornings,  seemed  be- 
yond his  normal  comprehension.  This  thing  that  had 
been  born  was  no  mere  copy,  no  article  of  barter  for  food 
and  clothing ;  it  was  a  message.  Either  he  still  dreamed 
or  it  would  speak  to  the  hearts  of  men.  He  sent  it  to  a 
weekly  of  wide  circulation. 

Even  inspiration  follows  a  prosaic  course  through  the 
mill  of  print  to  light,  but  John's  paper  was  not  alto- 
gether to  share  the  common  lot.  The  reader  to  whom 
it  was  apportioned  carried  it  to  the  editor's  desk  and  laid 
it  there  without  a  word.  The  editor  read  it  through 
at  first  with  impatience  and  once  again  patiently,  passed 
it  for  immediate  publication  and  then  sat  and  stared  ab- 
sently before  him.  His  mind  hovered  long  above  trivial 
personalities,  but  at  last  it  was  dragged  down  by  habit 
to  the  level  of  his  daily  bread.  He  rang  a  bell  and 
waited  impatiently,  a  question  hanging  on  his  lips. 
"  Who  is  John  Bogardus  ?  " 

In  the  meantime,  reaction  had  come  to  John  with 
the  force  of  an  overwhelming  wave.  With  his  spirit 
exhausted  and  dormant,  his  heart  suddenly  reawakened. 
Its  pulse  clamored  in  his  ears  as  though  it  had  been 

325 


326  JOHN    BOGARDUS 

knocking  at  a  closed  door  through  long  hours. 
"  Awake !  What  are  you  doing  ?  What  have  you 
lost?" 

In  John's  eyes  swam  a  memory  of  Dora,  dim  and  dis- 
tant, looking  back  from  a  far  horizon.  The  three  days 
of  her  absence  lengthened  suddenly  into  weeks,  into 
years.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  with  another  mo- 
ment's delay  she  would  be  gone  beyond  recall.  He 
rushed  to  telephone  a  wire  to  her.  Every  hour  he  fol- 
lowed up  his  first  appeal  with  another.  At  last  came 
her  answer :  "  For  heaven's  sake  stop  wiring,  boy. 
I  'm  coming." 

It  made  him  smile,  that  message;  it  was  so  like  her. 

She  came.  They  met  silently,  almost  shyly,  but 
through  all  the  long  drive  to  The  Lookout  John  could 
feel  her  nearness  warming  him,  gradually  possessing 
him,  so  that  when,  once  in  the  house,  she  hurled  off  her 
formal  traveling  things  and  started  dancing  around  the 
room,  he  clutched  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  so  tightly 
that  she  cried  out. 

That  evening  and  half  the  next  day  were  like  a  taste 
of  Paradise  unalloyed,  but  with  the  afternoon  reason 
spoke  to  John.  It  told  him  to  beware.  It  reminded 
him  of  the  world  of  the  spirit.  It  even  went  so  far  as 
to  picture  to  him  Dora  throttling  the  world  of  the  spirit 
with  her  soft  hands,  and  smiling.  He  grew  depressed. 
How  could  he  make  her  concentrated  eyes  look  beyond 
the  close  circle  they  had  drawn  about  themselves  ? 

"  WTiat  's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 
"  Just  now  I  made  a  joke,  a  good  joke,  and  you  did  n't 
laugh." 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  327 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  to  tell  you  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Um-hm,"  said  Dora,  her  mouth  full  of  two  choco- 
lates at  once,  "  ba-ki-mi-firt." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  then  he  held 
her  close  and  talked  to  her.  "  You  see,  kiddie,"  he  said. 
"  It 's  this  way.  I  've  simply  got  to  work.  We  've  had 
our  honeymoon ;  now  let 's  settle  down  like  old  married 
folks.  I  know  there  isn't  much  for  you  to  do,  but  if 
you  'd  just  go  for  a  walk  in  the  morning  for  an  hour,  or 
read  or  sew.  I  can  do  a  lot  in  an  hour  a  day." 

"  But  why  do  you  want  to  work,  dear  ? "  said  Dora, 
quite  calmly.  "  Are  you  sure  it  is  n't  because  you  are 
getting  just  a  little  bit  tired  of  having  Dora  around  ?  " 

John  knew  he  was  on  dangerous  ground  but  this  time 
he  thought  he  saw  a  clear  way  out.  "  Tired  of  you, 
darling  ?  "  he  said.  "  It 's  just  because  I  'm  not  tired 
of  you  that  I  've  got  to  work.  We  two  are  pretty 
healthy  youngsters.  We  eat  a  lot  and  we  've  got  rent  to 
pay  even  if  it  is  an  infinitesimal  sum  just  big  enough 
to  cover  love  and  two  in  a  cottage." 

Immediately  he  felt  demeaned.  In  a  way  what  he 
said  was  true  but  in  another  it  was  a  monstrous  lie. 
Fearing  to  put  her  to  the  test  of  his  world  of  the  spirit 
he  had  crawled  to  this  low  level  that  she  might  under- 
stand. 

"  Oh,"  said  Dora,  in  a  tone  of  faint  distaste  he  had 
never  heard  before,  "  you  mean  money." 

She  disengaged  herself  and  got  up.  He  wondered 
what  had  come  over  her,  she  was  so  cool,  distant,  and 
different  from  her  usual  self.  He  had  forgotten  that  a 
woman  of  her  precedents  despises  all  but  the  uses  of 


328  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

money.  Spend,  spend  till  the  last  cent  is  gone  and  if 
she  loves  she  '11  go  on  the  streets  for  a  lover.  But  save, 
live  within  an  income,  any  income  —  Dora  turned  from 
him  and  passed  into  her  room.  "  I  '11  be  back  in  a 
minute,"  she  said. 

She  came  back,  carrying  a  work  basket  in  her  hands. 
Her  face  was  set  in  hard  lines.  She  looked  as  ageless 
and  as  cold  as  a  statue.  John  stared  at  her  and  was 
silent.  He  jeered  at  himself  for  ever  having  had  a 
thought  of  calling  her  Janice,  laughed  at  himself  for  an 
emotional  fool. 

Dora  set  the  basket  on  the  table  and  opened  it. 
"  Come  here,"  she  said. 

The  basket  was  large  and  held  a  tangled  mass  of 
things  so  various  that  John  could  not  help  but  smile. 
Dora  smiled  with  him  but  apathetically.  She  drew  out 
one  thing  after  another;  a  pair  of  gloves  split  at  the 
finger  tips,  an  old  bedraggled  and  beloved  powder  puff, 
a  lone  silk  stocking,  a  bit  of  smudged  fancy  work  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  started  in  her  infancy,  cotton, 
yarn,  a  skein  of  silk,  but  above  all,  banknotes :  English 
banknotes  and  American  yellow-backs,  and  finally  a  gen- 
erous handful  of  gold  coins. 

She  pushed  the  heap  of  money  towards  John. 
"  There  you  are,"  she  said.  "  Now,  for  God's  sake, 
cheer  up !  " 

In  a  flash  he  realized  what  was  happening  and 
the  thing  that  had  changed  her.  She  was  reproving 
him,  reproving  him  for  measuring  the  cost  of  her  in 
money. 

"  Dora,"  he  said,  "  I  've  never  felt  like  slapping  you 


DORA 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  329 

before  but  I  feel  like  it  now.  Take  that  money  back 
and  do  it  quick." 

Dora  gave  him  a  sly  glance  like  a  puppy  wondering 
how  far  he  dare  go  with  the  full-grown  family  cat.  In 
that  instant  her  whole  atmosphere  changed.  She  was 
no  longer  a  statue ;  she  was  alive  and  in  a  mood  to  tease. 
Keeping  her  voice  to  the  same  hard  tone,  she  said,  "  Oh, 
no,  I  won't.  You  need  n't  mind  taking  it.  Just  look 
at  it  as  board  and  lodging." 

Pale  and  trembling,  John  rose  to  his  feet.  Dora, 
watching  him,  gave  an  excited  gasp  and  started  to  laugh. 
John  controlled  himself  with  an  effort  and  reached 
across  the  table  for  the  work-basket.  Dora  snatched  at 
it.  Between  them  it  turned  over  and  two  or  three  spools 
of  cotton  tumbled  out,  the  loose  thread  of  one  dragging 
with  it  a  ring.  Dora's  eyes  fastened  on  the  ring;  she 
went  white  and  reached  out  her  hand  slowly  as  though  to 
cover  it. 

The  ring  rolled  to  the  middle  of  the  table,  fell  on  its 
side,  and  suddenly  possessed  the  room.  From  a  setting 
of  pale  platinum  shone  a  circle  of  seed-pearls  surround- 
ing the  red  glow  of  a  ruby  whose  equal  John  had  never 
seen  except  through  the  plate  glass  of  a  shop  window. 
The  magnificence  of  the  ring  arrested  his  eye ;  the  glow- 
ing stone  set  fire  to  his  mind  and  sent  it  reeling  from 
one  horrible  thought  to  another. 

He  no  longer  saw  the  ring.  A  vision  came  to  him  of 
Dora,  his  own  Dora,  flaming  years  behind  his  reach  in 
the  untarnished  glory  of  her  innocence,  bartering  the 
torch  of  life  for  a  vile  precious  stone.  Jealousy  and 
remorse,  pity,  love,  and  despair  swelled  up  from  hii 


330  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

heart  in  one  confused  and  strangling  surge.  He  caught 
at  his  collar  as  if  it  were  choking  him ;  then  his  blood- 
shot eyes  fell  once  more  on  the  ring.  He  picked  it  up 
and  hurled  it  into  the  fireplace.  It  struck  on  the  grate 
and  rebounded.  Two  or  three  seed-pearls  splashed 
into  the  air  like  drops  of  water  from  a  fountain.  Dora 
sprang  up  and  rushed  across  the  room. 

"  My  ring,"  she  cried.     "  Oh,  my  ring !  " 

Even  as  she  crouched  to  pick  it  up  he  was  upon  her. 
His  hands  clutched  down  at  her  and  fell  in  her  soft  hair. 
He  seized  it  and  dragged  her  to  her  feet.  Breathing 
hard,  holding  her  to  him  roughly,  he  sought  her  wrists 
and  found  them,  gripped  them  till  the  bones  cracked. 
"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  gasped. 

Dora  raised  her  eyes,  luminous  and  unafraid,  to  his 
face.  "  John,"  she  said,  "  I  have  n't  got  it.  Look, 
dear.  It 's  on  the  floor." 

He  glanced  down,  saw  the  ring,  and  crushed  it  with 
his  foot.  The  metal  and  the  pearls  crumbled  and  fell 
away  but  the  ruby  remained.  It  glowed  up  from  the 
darkness  of  the  floor  balefully  like  a  red  eye  and  said  to 
him,  "  I  am  still  here.  You  cannot  crush  me." 

Suddenly  a  wave  of  shame  swept  him  from  head  to 
foot,  shame  for  the  raging  thing  he  had  become.  He 
dropped  Dora's  wrists,  released  her,  and  raised  his 
hands  to  his  face.  His  cheeks  were  hot  and  wet  with 
sweat,  his  brow  was  cold  and  clammy  to  the  touch  of  his 
fevered  hands.  Then  his  arms  fell  limp  to  his  sides,  his 
head  dropped  forward,  and  he  made  such  a  sound  in  his 
throat  as  no  woman  ever  heard  twice. 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  331 

In  that  moment  Dora  knew  herself  desperately  be- 
loved. She  sank  to  the  floor,  wrapped  her  arms  around 
his  knees,  buried  her  face  against  him,  and  sobbed  as 
though  only  then  her  heart  had  broken.  It  was  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

ALL  that  night  John  paced  up  and  down  the  beach, 
and  till  the  sky  began  to  pale  in  the  east  a  light 
gleamed  from  Dora's  room.  He  did  not  have  to  ask 
what  she  was  doing;  he  knew  as  surely  as  though 
no  walls  intervened.  She  was  packing,  and  crying.  A 
thousand  times  he  asked  himself  if  he  could  let  her  go 
and  a  thousand  times  came  the  answer,  "  She  is  gone." 
Nothing  that  he  could  do  could  hold  her ;  in  spirit  and 
in  flesh  they  two  waged  a  battle  that  rushed  on  to  its  own 
appointed  end. 

Through  the  long  night  he  lived  over  moment  by  mo- 
ment their  life  together.  Even  at  that  short  range 
he  could  see  how  it  had  mounted  by  steady  leaps  like  a 
mortal  fever  to  a  predestined  and  consuming  death. 
In  his  despair  it  seemed  to  him  that  naught  was  left, 
that  in  the  hot  flame  of  jealousy,  violence,  and  scorching, 
demeaning  thoughts,  all  hopes  of  peace  to  body  or  to 
soul  had  perished. 

Toward  morning  a  rage  seized  him.  He  stripped, 
hurled  himself  into  the  sea,  and  battled  with  the  waves 
until  through  very  exhaustion  they  laid  a  chill  upon  his 
flesh  and  subdued  his  brain  to  a  cold  stupor.  He  went 
to  the  breakfast  table  outwardly  calm  but  inwardly  in  a 
state  of  tension  which  he  little  realized.  A  new  thought 
obsessed  him.  He  had  lost  all,  but  he  could  still  lose 
more.  He  could  settle  for  all  time  his  silly  doubts  and 

332 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  333 

fears.  To-day,  this  morning,  he  would  say  to  Dora, 
"  Janice !  "  and  see  if  the  heavens  could  still  fall !  He 
clung  to  the  thought  of  this  last  folly  like  a  gambler  to 
a  last  small  coin. 

Dora  came  to  the  table  looking  pale  and  tired  but 
coldly  self-possessed.  She  was  dressed  in  a  close-fitting 
traveling  suit  that  in  contrast  to  her  short-skirted,  holi- 
day garb  made  her  seem  tall,  slim,  and  suddenly  ma- 
tured. She  had  gone  back  into  herself  as  John  first  had 
known  her. 

They  sat  down  opposite  each  other.  Gleaming  on  the 
white  cloth  where  Muno-Muno  had  carefully  placed  it 
was  a  little  pile  of  pearls,  metal,  and  the  ruby,  looking 
like  a  tiny  heap  of  fairy  rubbish.  John  reached  for 
an  envelope,  swept  the  ruin  into  it  and  laid  it  aside. 
He  knew  instinctively  that  he  need  not  say  in  words, 
"  I  will  have  this  ring  reset  and  send  it  to  you."  He 
and  Dora  had  passed  into  the  intimacy  that  scorns 
speech  for  little  things. 

They  toyed  with  their  food  but  scarcely  ate.  They 
were  both  silent  as  though  they  knew  that  the  air 
was  charged  and  might  flash  into  a  blinding  flare  at 
the  spark  of  a  careless  word.  Dora  moved  her  hands 
nervously,  to  her  head,  to  the  table,  to  her  lap.  More 
than  once  she  caught  up  her  tiny  watch,  hanging,  like 
an  iridescent  bead,  at  the  end  of  a  long  old-gold  neck- 
chain,  and  looked  at  it.  Every  time  she  glanced  at  her 
watch  John  raised  his  eyes  to  the  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"  It  is  time,"  she  said  at  last,  laid  down  her  napkin 
and  pushed  back  her  chair. 

John's  eyes  fastened  on  her  face.     He  clutched  the 


334  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

edge  of  the  table  with  both  hands.  He  could  feel  small 
drops  of  cold  sweat  forming  on  his  forehead. 
"  Janice ! "  he  whispered  hoarsely.  The  sound  he 
made  was  more  like  a  croak  than  a  name. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Dora,  her  eyes  wide  and  puzzled. 

"  Janice !  "  shouted  John  and  struck  the  table  with 
his  fist. 

Dora's  pallor  went  dead  white.  Her  chin  flew  up  as 
though  some  one  had  stabbed  her  in  the  heart.  She 
swayed  from  side  to  side  and  clutched  the  table. 
"  Why  ?  Oh,  why  ?  "  she  moaned,  her  hands  clasped 
and  straining  so  that  the  knuckles  showed  white  as  the 
linen  cloth.  Then  suddenly,  her  eyes  that  had  half 
closed,  blazed  out  on  him. 

"  You  could  n't  let  me  go  without  hurting  me  with 
another  woman's  name  ?  "  she  asked,  steadying  her  gaze 
and  bringing  it  defiantly  to  his  face.  Her  lip  began  to 
curl.  She  raised  one  hand  to  her  heaving  breast  but 
drew  it  away  with  sudden  decision,  tapped  the  table,  and 
stared  fixedly  before  her.  "  Or  are  you  just  mad  ?  " 

"  Mad !  "  cried  John,  staring  at  her  despairingly,  and 
choked  on  the  word.  Oh,  this  was  worse,  a  thousand 
times  worse.  He  had  staked  all  —  and  lost !  By  no 
such  crude  assault  could  Janice  be  snatched  from  the 
long  years  that  had  made  and  bound  her.  He  rose  and 
fell  on  his  knees  beside  her,  buried  his  face  in  her  lap 
and  sobbed. 

She  ran  her  fingers  through  his  hair  once,  then  she 
pushed  his  head  from  her  lap,  got  up,  and  left  him  cling- 
ing to 'the  empty  chair.  When  he  recovered  himself  and 
arose,  her  face  was  calm  with  the  calm  of  a  trained  con- 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  335 

trol.  She  had  picked  up  a  cigarette  and  was  looking 
around  for  a  match. 

During  the  drive  to  the  station  they  scarcely  spoke 
and  when  they  did  it  was  of  commonplace  things.  She 
was  to  go  to  a  certain  hotel  and  to  cross  by  the  boat 
of  her  choice.  She  need  do  nothing  nor  worry.  He 
would  arrange  everything  by  wire.  Even  at  the  station 
they  said  no  good-by.  John  helped  her  up  the  steps, 
watched  her  disappear  into  the  coach,  and  half  turned 
to  go.  But  something  stopped  him.  A  definite  influ- 
ence seemed  to  hold  him. 

The  train  with  its  blank  windows  or  blanker  faces 
started  and  crawled  by  him.  He  looked  up.  She  had 
rushed  through  the  carriage  to  the  rear  platform.  She 
stood  there,  a  little  breathless,  holding  both  hands  to 
her  breast  in  a  gesture  he  knew  well.  Her  eyes  met  his. 
He  saw,  or  he  imagined,  that  her  eyes  and  her  whole 
face  were  changed.  It  was  as  if  she  had  transcended 
youth,  as  if  the  youth  that  was  left  to  her  had  suddenly 
become  fixed  for  all  time,  staple  as  the  youth  of  the  soul 
that  cannot  die.  Gravity,  sweetness,  and  love  hovered 
in  her  gaze  as  though  not  yet  quite  sure  of  their  abiding 
place  and  as  she  leaned  toward  him,  all  passion  forgot- 
ten, her  lips  moved  mutely.  She  made  no  sound  but  to 
John  it  seemed  that  he  heard  her  cry,  "  Suffer.  Pay. 
You  and  I  will  still  grow  beyond  this  thing !  " 

He  made  his  slow  way  back  to  The  Lookout.  All 
that  day  he  was  plunged  in  thought,  buffeted  between 
the  seeming  and  the  truth  of  Dora,  oppressed  and  dis- 
heartened by  an  all-pervading  desolation.  He  locked 
her  room  without  looking  in  and  put  away  the  key.  In 


336  JOHN   BOGARDUS 

the  days  that  followed  he  tried  to  lock  Dora  herself  away 
in  some  deep  and  dark  closet  of  the  mind. 

Gradually  a  sense  of  freedom  came  back  to  him,  a 
freedom  that  was  sweet  even  though  the  chains  that  had 
bound  him  had  been  of  flowers  heavy  only  in  perfume. 
He  reveled  in  his  pipe,  in  lonely,  tobacco-laden  musings, 
in  ragged  clothes,  early  hours,  and  all  those  things  upon 
which  the  constant  presence  of  Dora,  passionately  de- 
manding and  demanded,  had  put  a  tacit  ban,  and  he 
looked  forward  to  quiet  hours  of  work. 

But  freedom  too  can  pall  when  once  the  heart  has 
known  servitude,  and  days  came,  nights  came,  when 
John  and  the  memory  of  Dora  walked  hand  in  hand  on 
the  sands,  sat  upon  the  couch  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
pressed  lips  to  lips  and  breast  to  breast;  nights  when 
echoes  of  laughter  and  a  fragrance  of  womankind  that 
would  not  die  haunted  the  lonely  house. 

Was  marriage,  after  all,  merely  a  habit,  a  habit  of 
the  heart  ?  He  picked  up  a  small  lamp,  took  the  key, 
and  went  for  the  first  time  to  the  room  that  had  been 
Dora's.  He  set  down  the  lamp  and  looked  about  him. 

On  the  dresser  were  wilted  roses  in  a  dried  up  vase. 
A  discarded  pair  of  slippers,  only  half  worn  out,  one 
tumbled  on  its  side,  lay  on  the  floor.  On  a  chair  hung 
a  black  hair-ribbon,  broad  and  smooth  in  places,  tightly 
wrinkled  in  spots.  Would  Dora,  his  child-Dora,  ever 
again  wear  her  hair  down  her  back  ?  For  whom  ?  His 
teeth  ground  together  on  that  torturing  thought.  Pain 
settled  in  his  eyes.  They  passed  on  and  paused  at  the 
washstand  where  two  cakes  of  soap  lay  in  the  dish  in 
strange  misalliance. 


JOHN   BOGAKDUS  33Y 

He  had  learned  that,  too  —  that  a  woman  must  have 
common  washing  soap  for  her  hair.  He  picked  up  the 
vulgar  cake  and  stared  at  it  vaguely.  How  common  it 
was  but  what  memories  it  evoked  of  Dora's  glorious  hair 
all  fluffy  and  soft  and  fragrant !  How  he  had  loved  her 
hair  on  those  days  when  she  had  said  with  all  the  women 
in  the  world,  "  I  've  just  washed  it  and  I  simply  can't 
do  anything  with  it !  " 

He  went  out  to  the  living-room  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips  and  a  dull  ache  in  his  heart,  picked  out  all  the  little 
things  that  spoke  too  loudly  of  Dora,  gathered  them 
together,  and  carried  them  into  her  room.  He  stood  as 
one  dazed,  held  in  the  clutch  of  memory.  Just  so  had 
his  heart  ached  on  a  blue  day  of  long  ago,  the  day  of 
the  farewell  to  Janice.  A  lump  rose  in  his  throat. 
Had  he  blundered  on  that  far-away  day?  Had  he 
killed  the  thing  he  loved  best  ? 

For  answer  Dora's  face  as  she  leaned  from  the  train 
pressed  to  his  eyes.  The  gravity,  sweetness  and  love 
that  he  had  seen  hovering  in  her  gaze  enveloped  him 
like  a  mantle,  blinded  his  eyes  as  with  a  vision.  He 
saw  her  lips  move.  He  heard  her  voice.  "  Suffer. 
Pay.  You  and  I —  You  and  I—" 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

DORA  was  gone  and  summer  was  over.  Even  the 
warm  South  Jersey  coast  was  approaching  the 
grip  of  frost.  John  looked  out  to  bleak  skies  and  a  dull 
sea  and  knew  that  soon  his  desolation  would  be  more 
desolate,  but  he  had  no  fears  for  to  him  all  places,  all 
time,  had  become  but  here  and  to-day. 

One  morning  he  awoke  to  the  chill  air  that  tells  of 
bursting  chestnut  burs,  of  the  falling  of  the  glory  of 
painted  leaves,  and  bears  with  it  the  first  whisper  of 
snow  and  a  threat  of  ice  and  sleet.  He  arose  shivering 
and  stepped  out  to  a  gray  and  sodden  world.  It  was 
raining;  a  fine,  persistent  rain,  slanting  like  a  falling 
mist  to  the  driving  north-east  wind. 

John  got  out  Muno-Muno's  hated  woolens  and  handed 
them  to  him.  The  black's  eyes  started  wide  as  to  a 
sudden  fear  and  filled  to  the  brim  with  a  strange  fire. 
They  were  like  two  wells  of  light.  He  took  the  woolens, 
stared  at  them,  shook  his  head,  and  laid  them  aside. 
Through  the  three  days  that  the  rain  lasted  he  crouched 
chattering  over  the  kitchen  fire  clothed  only  in  his  loin 
cloth. 

At  last  the  storm  broke  to  a  limpid  day,  still  and  blue, 
so  clear  that  the  eye  reached  maddeningly  beyond  the 
range  of  sight,  aspiring  to  infinity.  A  rare  calm  had 
fallen  on  the  sea.  To  the  clear  line  of  the  horizon,  so 

338 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  339 

near  that  it  called  to  vision  to  peep  beyond  now  or  never, 
the  ocean  swelled  like  an  undulating  mirror  of  the  bowl 
of  heaven,  mute,  silent  but  for  the  gentle  whispering  of 
its  hushed  lips  upon  the  beach. 

In  mid-afternoon  John  looked  out  and  saw  Muno- 
Muno  sitting  on  his  favorite  sand-dune,  gazing  out  and 
beyond  the  sea  as  he  had  so  often  gazed  before;  only, 
to-day  he  was  different,  rigid,  chin  up,  intent.  John 
watched  him  absently  but  curiously.  Presently  the 
black  got  up,  walked  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water  and 
with  a  slow  gesture  let  fall  his  loin-cloth.  The  sun 
glinted  on  his  naked  body  and  blazoned  it  against  earth 
and  sea  and  sky  as  though  the  whole  world  held  but  this 
single  sculptured  bronze. 

With  his  hands  fallen  at  his  sides  Muno-Muno 
stepped  over  the  thin  line  of  foam  and  walked  into  the 
water.  The  vast  mirror  of  the  sea  gathered  and  spread 
in  oily  ripples  from  his  ankles,  from  his  knees,  from  his 
waist,  and  crept  steadily  higher.  John  knew  that  like 
most  natives  brought  up  on  the  shores  of  waters  infested 
by  sharks  or  crocodiles  Muno-Muno  could  not  swim. 
Feeling  vaguely  uneasy  he  went  out  on  the  veranda  and 
shouted. 

Muno-Muno  did  not  turn.  With  his  eyes  steadfastly 
fixed  on  the  beckoning  horizon  he  walked  on  and  down. 
The  water  rose  to  his  shoulders,  covered  them,  reached 
his  chin.  John  leaped  from  the  veranda  and  plunged 
in  great  frantic  strides  down  toward  the  beach.  While 
his  eyes  had  been  vacantly  questioning  the  black's 
strange  actions,  Muno-Muno's  immutable  purpose  had 
crashed  in  on  his  consciousness  and  revealed  itself  to  his 


340  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

inner  sight.  He  reached  the  beach  panting,  dismay 
clutching  at  his  heart. 

"  Muno-Muno !  "  he  shouted  hoarsely. 

There  was  no  answer.  Where  but  now  as  he  ran  he 
had  glimpsed  a  black  dot  centering  a  widening  circle  of 
oily  ripples  there  was  nothing,  nothing  but  the  vast  un- 
dulation of  an  unbroken  sea. 

John  rushed  into  the  water.  It  seized  and  wrapped 
his  trousers  clammily  about  his  legs,  arrested  him,  made 
him  pause.  Never  before  had  the  sea  seemed  so  vast, 
so  uncharted.  Where  had  those  ripples  quivered  only 
a  moment  ago  ?  He  waited  to  see  some  sign  of  commo- 
tion, some  rising  blur  upon  the  surface  of  the  water. 
It  did  not  come.  With  despair  already  in  his  heart  he 
plunged  headlong,  swam  out  and  dived,  swam  up  and 
down  and  dived  again  and  again.  Quickly  exhausted 
by  his  clinging  clothes  in  moments  that  seemed  like' 
hours,  he  turned  and  forged  his  slow  way  to  shore. 

On  the  beach  stood  a  stranger.  He  had  topped  the 
big  dune  behind  the  house  just  as  Muno-Muno  had  sunk 
from  sight.  He  had  rushed  down  to  help  but  age  had 
quickly  laid  its  forbidding  hand  upon  him.  He  was 
still  breathing  heavily  with  a  cracked  wheeze  in  his 
throat.  John  stared  at  him  with  unrecognizing  eyes. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  said  the  old  man.  "  But  do 
not  let  us  stop  here,"  he  continued  without  a  pause. 
"  Come  up  to  the  house.  Change  your  things." 

John's  emotion  was  conquered,  almost  stilled,  by  the 
calmness  of  this  stranger  in  the  face  of  death.  Strug- 
gling to  place  and  grasp  a  half-formed  recollection,  he 
followed  the  old  man  toward  the  house  and  left  him 


JOHN   BOGARDUS  341 

submissively  to  go  and  change  to  dry  clothes.  As  he 
dressed,  absently  picking  up  one  garment  after  another, 
full  memory  came  suddenly  upon  him.  It  was  the  Dean 
sitting  out  there,  scarcely  more  aged  after  all  than  when 
he  last  had  seen  him. 

John  came  out  fully  dressed  and  sat  down  before  his 
guest.  The  Dean  was  folding  and  unfolding  in  his 
hands  a  crumpled  magazine.  He  opened  it  and  laid 
it  on  the  table.  John  saw  the  heading  of  his  es- 
say. 

The  Dean  slowly  turned  one  leaf  backward  and  for- 
ward, glanced  at  a  phrase  or  two  with  a  gravity  tinged 
by  a  feeling  John  had  never  seen  him  betray  in  the  old 
days,  and  finally  turned  his  eyes  on  John's  face.  "  I 
came  to  tell  you,"  he  said  in  his  low  sonorous  tones, 
"  that  you  have  swum  back  into  my  heart  and  into  the 
heart  of  the  university.  After  all  my  years  I  think  of 
the  two  almost  as  one.  We  need  you.  We  have  just 
founded  a  social  chair  and  I  have  been  holding  it  in  my 
unsteady  old  hands  waiting  for  the  right  man  to  come 
along  —  waiting  for  you." 

John  threw  up  his  head  in  instinctive  protest  and 
then  suddenly  dropped  it.  A  strange  lassitude  fell  upon 
him.  To  what  freedom  did  he  cling  to-day?  Where 
was  freedom  to-day  if  not  in  service  ? 

"  Never  mind  what  you  bring  in  your  hands,"  con- 
tinued the  Dean.  "  Bring  yourself.  Name  the  chair 
what  you  like.  Write  your  essays  just  as  you  would 
here,  only  lecture  them  first."  He  laid  his  hand  on 
John's  arm.  "  Will  you  come  2  " 

John  looked  at  the  old  man's  face,  suddenly  alight 


342  JOHN    BOGAKDUS 

with  the  intensity  of  a  great  desire,  and  then  let  his  gaze 
wander  about  the  room  and  out  across  the  still  sea. 

"  When  ?  "  he  asked. 

A  wave  of  color  rose  in  the  Dean's  sallow  cheeks. 
'"  Now,"  he  said.  "  I 'came  down  by  motor.  The  car 
is  waiting  for  us." 

John  rose  and  turned  slowly  about,  drinking  in  with 
his  eyes  each  least  detail  of  the  little  house  whose  deso- 
lation had  suddenly  become  absolute.  He  picked  up  an 
overcoat,  motioned  to  the  Dean  to  go  out,  closed  the  win- 
dows, locked  the  doors  and  then  led  the  way  over  the 
hill  along  the  single  strand  of  wire  that  linked  The 
Lookout  to  the  world. 

"  Is  n't  there  anything  you  want  to  bring  ?  "  asked  the 
Dean,  troubled. 

"  Nothing,"  said  John. 

Plunged  in  silence,  his  mind  dazed  and  wandering 
in  a  mist  of  memories,  he  sat  huddled  in  his  corner 
throughout  the  long  ride,  and,  when  after  dark  they 
reached  the  door  of  his  father's  house,  scarcely  answered 
the  strong  pressure  of  the  hand  the  Dean  held  out  in  a 
wordless  farewell. 

He  did  not  enter  the  house  at  once.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  on  its  steps  and  looked  toward  the  distant 
campus.  Lights  gleamed  there  like  stars  in  a  still  sky 
and  above  them  rose  misty  forms  of  granite  and  brick 
and  the  Gothic  cobweb  of  leafless  elms  all  equally  soft- 
ened and  aged  by  the  dimming  touch  of  night.  It  was 
a  dear  place,  a  quiet  place  where  roads  end,  but  only  in 
service. 

He  felt  as  though  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a 


JOHN   BOGAEDUS  343 

mighty  portal.  He  forgot  the  Dean's  long  handclasp. 
If  his  own  hand  was  warm,  it  was  warm  because  Dora 
seemed  to  hold  it.  He  could  not  tell  if  she  held  him 
back  or  led  him  on ;  he  only  knew  that  she  was  eternally 
with  him  as  he  last  had  seen  her,  her  throbbing  heart 
naked  to  his  eyes. 

"Marriage,"  he  breathed,  "is  a  monumental  noth- 
ing. It 's  the  garlands  that  count,  the  garlands  of  con- 
stancy, faith,  purification,  that  we  bring  with  us  to  its 
immemorial  altar." 

He  turned  and  passed  into  the  old  familiar  hallway, 
hung  up  his  coat  and  hat,  knocked  on  the  library  door, 
opened  it  at  a  call  from  his  father,  and  went  in.  The 
professor  did  not  rise  to  greet  him.  He  was  sitting  in 
a  deep  chair  drawn  close  before  the  open  fire  and  in  his 
lap  were  scattered  the  loose  sheets  of  a  bulky  manu- 
script. He  was  dropping  the  pages  one  by  one  into  the 
flames.  He  twisted  in  his  seat  as  his  son  drew  near. 

"  Ah,  John,"  he  said,  his  face  lighting  up.  "  You 
have  come  back !  I  am  very  glad." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  John  grasped  it  and  looked 
down  at  his  father.  The  professor  had  grown  white  and 
old,  even  his  brilliant  eyes  were  blurred  as  though  they 
had  been  dimmed  by  years  of  tears.  All  about  him,  on 
the  floor,  on  the  table  and  the  chairs,  lay  open  news- 
papers, the  accumulation  of  days  and  weeks.  Just  their 
headlines  were  an  epitome  of  all  the  horrors  that  a  na- 
tion gone  mad,  building  a  philosophy  on  iron  and 
bowing  in  adulation  before  a  God  of  steel,  had  visited 
upon  a  blind  and  pitiful  world,  slow  to  believe  the 
incredible,  stunned  before  the  monstrous.  Before  that 


3M  JOHN   BOGAKDUS 

onslaught  phrases  old  and  beloved, —  honor,  mercy, 
charity,  and  faith, —  clung  desperately  to  the  written 
page  as  though  each  day  threatened  to  blot  them  for- 
ever from  the  minds  of  men. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Father  ?  "  asked  John. 

The  professor  let  his  hands  drop  on  the  crumpled 
sheets  in  his  lap  and  stared  into  the  fire.  "  I  am  burn- 
ing my  monograph,"  he  said  quietly,  "  my  monograph 
on  the  great  American  Game.  I  read  your  essay. 
Like  you,  my  boy,  I  know  that  to-day  all  frivolous  am- 
bitions are  dead." 

With  the  opening  of  the  following  week,  John  found 
himself  once  more  before  a  class.  As  he  looked  back 
in  memory  it  seemed  to  him  that  these  faces  were 
changed,  matured,  possessed  of  a  gravity  beyond  their 
years.  He  did  not  know  that  he  gazed  upon  the  reflec- 
tion of  his  own  countenance. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  began,  "  I  am  an  apostle." 


THE    EISTD 


A    000  051  851     4 


